THE  LIBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


MAKGAKET: 


A  STOBY   OF 


LIFE  IN  A  PRAIRIE  HOME, 


BY    LYNDON. 


FIFTH   THOUSAND. 


NEW  YORK : 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER    &    CO, 

1868. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 
CHAKLES   SCRIBNER    &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's   Office  of  the   District  Court  of  the  United  States   for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


THE   TROW   t  SMITH 
BOOK    MANVFACTUK1KO     COXPA 
46,  43,  50  Greene  Street,  N.  Y 


P6 


WHATEVER  IS  GOOD  IN  MY  BOOK 


I     DEDICATE    TO    THE     MEMOET 


MY   MOTHER. 


1318680 


MARGARET 


CHAPTER  L 

She  hath  no  scorn  of  common  things ; 

And,  though  she  seem  of  other  birth, 
Round  us  her  heart  entwines  and  clings, 
And  patiently  she  folds  her  wings, 

To  tread  the  humbler  paths  of  earth.       LOWELL. 

"  I  SAY,  Aunt  Margaret,  why  don't  you  tell  us  the  story 
you  promised  to,  about  that  lamp  that  did  such  queer 
things  ?  " 

"  If  your  aunt  ever  gets  through  gazing  out  of  the  win 
dow,  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  the  paper  read." 

"  Oh,  dear,  that's  always  the  way ;  Jack  and  I  never 
want  to  hear  a  story,  but  what  somebody  wants  something. 
It's  meaner  than  any  thing" — and  George  kicked  his  heels 
harder  than  ever  against  the  wall,  as  he  lay  on  the  floor 
with  his  legs  at  right  angles  with  his  body. 

There  was  little  in  the  scene  upon  which  Margaret 
Crosby  had  been  looking  out  for  the  last  half  hour,  with  her 
elbow  on  the  window-sill,  and  her  chin  in  her  hand,  to  at 
tract  and  interest  one.  Even  when  brightened  by  sunshine 
and  green  trees,  and  grass  and  waving  grain,  it  was  monoto 
nous  ;  but  now,  in  the  deepening  twilight  of  a  dull  clay, 
late  in  October,  when  fields,  woods,  and  sky  all  wore  a 
cold,  gray  hue,  it  was  fairly  desolate ;  and  Margaret's  face 
had  a  dreary  look.  It  was  evident  that  the  scene  was  in 
keeping  with  her  mood.  But  the  gloom  was  banished  when 
she  heard  her  father's  voice ;  and  she  rose  quickly  from  the 
window. 

{( It  is  a  shame,  father,  that  I  have  kept  you  waiting  all 


6  MAEGABET : 

this  time ;  but  I  got  mto  a  web  of  tangled  thoughts,  and 
there  is  no  telling  when  I  should  have  come  out  of  it,  if  you 
had  not  spoken." 

"Your  tangled  webs  are  more  interesting  to  yourself 
than  to  others,  Margaret,"  said  her  sister  Fanny,  from  her 
easy-chair  by  the  fire.  "  You  might  be  a  little  more  consid 
erate,  I  think,  and  not  sit  speechless  an  hour  together,  when 
we  are  so  entirely  dependent  upon  each  other." 

"  It  was  rather  hard,  I  confess,  Fanny,  for  me  to  deprive 
you,  for  so  long,  of  my  wit  and  wisdom  ;  but  when  a  body 
comes  suddenly  upon  her  thirtieth  birth-day,  how  can  she 
help  a  few  meditations  upon  her  great  antiquity? " 

"  How  disagreeable  you  are,  Margaret !  That  is  the 
second  time  to-day  that  you  have  harped  upon  your  age. 
Do  choose  some  other  topic  ! " 

"I  suppose  I  may  wait  till  to-morrow,  and  read  the 
paper  myself,"  said  her  father,  fretfully. 

"  You  shan't  wait  another  minute,  father.  Georgie,  you 
just  run  up-stairs  and  bring  the  Gazette  from  my  bureau, 
while  I  light  the  candle  and  coax  the  fire  a  bit." 

But  George  only  muttered  something  about  Jack's  going, 
and  about  stories  and  promises. 

Margaret's  "  Oh,  Georgie ! "  brought  his  feet  down  from 
their  protracted  elevation ;  but  before  he  had  edged  him 
self  away  from  the  wall,  rolled  over  and  slowly  regained, 
first  his  hands  and  knees,  and  then  his  feet,  the  candle  stood 
on  the  little  table  between  the  lounge,  where  Mr.  Crosby 
lay,  and  Fanny's  easy-chair,  the  fire  was  blazing,  and  Mar 
garet  had  brought  the  paper  herself.  Just  then  the  kitchen- 
door  opened,  and  a  man  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  an  old  felt- 
hat  on  his  head,  appeared. 

"  I  say,  Miss  Crosby,  be  you  through  with  that  'ere  news 
paper  ?  coz,  if  you  be,  I'd  like  ter  borry  it  a  spell." 

"  No,  Jotham,  I  am  just  going  to  read  it  to  my  father. 
When  I  am  through  with  it,  I  will  let  Jack  bring  it  to  you 
in  the  kitchen." 

"  Oh,  if  you're  agoin'  ter  read  it  out,  I  don't  mind  sittin' 


A   STORY   OF  LIFE  IN  A  PRAIRIE  HOME.  7 

down  an'  listenin'.  It's  a  mighty  sight  easier  ter  hear  readin' 
nor  ter  read  yerself." 

Margaret's  face  flushed  a  little,  but  she  made  no  objection 
to  this  addition  to  her  audience,  having  learned  wisdom  by 
sorry  experience. 

Fanny  gave  an  impatient  hitcli  to  her  chair  as  Jotham, 
the  man-of-all-work  on  the  farm,  seated  himself  near  the 
fire,  comfortably  tilting  himself  back  against  the  wall ;  but 
the  reading  proceeded.  It  was  worth  while  to  hear  even  a 
stupid  country  gazette  read  in  such  clear,  ringing  tones,  and 
George  and  Jack  came  and  stood  by  their  aunt,  George 
with  an  arm  around  her  neck. 

"  Wai,  now,  that  there  Congress  be  a  great  institution, 
I  should  say.  Ef  I  bed  my  way,  I'd  hang  'em  all  up  high  an' 
dry.  The  States  'ud  be  better  off"  for  it." 

"  It's  wicked  for  you  to  talk  like  that,  Jotham,"  said 
George,  indignantly ;  "  Aunt  Margaret  says  we  should  re 
spect  the  Government,  and  when  I'm  a  man  I'll  fight  for  it, 
if  I  have  a  chance." 

"  I  say,  Mr.  Crosby,"  said  Jotham,  coming  down  on  the 
four  legs  of  his  chair,  as  Mr.  Crosby  got  feebly  up  from  the 
lounge,  signifying  to  Margaret  that  he  was  going  to  bed ; 
"  them  fields  where  the  wheat  an'  oats  was  is  all  ploughed, 
an'  what  ther's  left  I  kin  do  easy  in  four  or  five  days,  an'  I 
want  to  take  the  bosses  and  plough  for  Tim  Simkins  to-morra' 
to  pay  fer  a  good  turn  he  done  me  last  year.  I  s'pose  you 
ha'n't  got  no  objections." 

"  Margaret,  can't  you  manage  such  little  affairs,  when  you 
know  how  i'eeble  I  am  ? "  said  her  father,  reproachfully. 
"  I  do  think  you  might  save  my  nerves  a  little  more  than 
you  do." 

"I  had  no  idea,  father,  that  Jotham  was  going  to  speak 
to  you  about  this.  I  think,  Jotham,  that  you  had  better 
finish  our  own  ploughing  first,  and  then,  if  you  have  a  day's 
leisure,  you  can  plough  for  Mr.  Simpkins." 

"  Oh,  wal,  if  you  object  to  obleegin'  a  feller  like  that,  I'll 
clear  out.  Ther's  plenty  of  folks  as  a'n't  so  sot  up  as  all  that 


8  MAEGAEET : 

comes  to,"  and  my  lord  Jotham  stalked  out  of  the  room, 
slamming  the  door  behind  him. 

Mr.  Crosby  made  a  despairing  motion  with  his  hands,  as 
if  utterly  hopeless  of  any  thing  but  trouble. 

"  If  you  could  only  learn  to  be  a  little  more  politic, 
Margaret.  What  are  we  to  do  now  ?  We  can't  get  another 
man,  far  or  near.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go  to  work.  I 
could  dig  and  plough  a  few  days,  and  then  drop  into  my 
grave,  and  there  would  be  one  less  care  for  you." 

Margaret  was  evidently  used  to  such  mournful  states  of 
mind,  for  she  only  stroked  his  hair  softly,  assuring  him 
that  no  trouble  should  come  of  this,  and  she  should  laugh  to 
see  her  dear  father  with  a  spade  or  a  plough. 

"I  must  say,  Margaret,"  said  Fanny,  "I  think  things 
have  come  to  a  pretty  pass,  if  you  will  let  that  man  have 
the  horses  for  a  whole  day,  to  work  for  some  of  his  low 
lived  cronies,  and  I  am  deprived  for  days  together  of  a 
drive,  when  my  health  demands  fresh  air ;  you  know  I  am 
not  able  to  walk." 

"  I  do  know  it,  Fanny,  and  I  only  wish  I  could  see  you 
enjoying  every  possible  comfort  that  you  require.  But  one 
needs  an  extra  allowance  of  wisdom  to  manage  the  queer 
men  and  maids  about  here.  I  think  I  shall  prove  equal  to 
this  emergency,  having  learned  something  from  our  experi 
ence  with  Nancy  and  Harriet  and  the  rest.  I  wonder  what 
our  next  specimen  will  prove  ?  for  I  suppose  we  must  try 
again,  though  I  wish  we  might  be  spared." 

"  It's  very  well  for  you  to  prefer  to  do  without  a  servant, 
who  are  well  and  strong.  I  can't  expect  you  to  appreciate 
the  trial  it  is  to  me,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Why,  mother,"  said  George,  "  it  was  your  fault  that 
Harriet  went  away ;  you  made  such  a  fuss  about  her  coming 
to  the  table  with  us,  and  she  wouldn't  stay  unless  she  could." 

"  Well,  that  is  something  I  never  will  submit  to  !  It  is 
too  much  to  ask.  When  another  servant  comes,  I  wish  it 
distinctly  understood  that  I  shall  have  my  meals  by  myself." 

Margaret  sighed,  as  she  left  the  room  to  see  if  her  father 


A    6TOEY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PBAIBIE    HOME.  9 

needed  her.   When  she  came  back,  the  boys  clamored  for  their 
story,  and  she  readily  began  :    "  Well,  once  upon  a  time — " 

"  Now,  Margaret,  you  are  not  going  to  tell  another  of 
those  silly  stories  ?  If  you  are,  I  shall  have  to  go  up-stairs, 
and  read  in  the  cold." 

"  Mother,"  said  George,  "  I  just  think  you  are  too  bad. 
You've  been  reading  that  old  novel  all  day,  and  no\v  you 
make  a  fuss  about  our  hearing  a  little  story." 

Mrs.  Sinclair  deigned  no  reply,  and  Margaret  said,  "  Well, 
my  dears,  we'll  go  up-stairs,  and  after  you  are  snugly  in  bed, 
I'll  tell  about  the  lamp;  then  you  can  drop  to  sleep  and 
dream  about  the  genii  and  things." 

So  the  boys  scampered  up-stairs,  with  Margaret  after 
them ;  and  having  read  their  verses,  said  their  prayers, 
and  buried  themselves  under  the  clothes,  all  but  their  eager 
young  faces,  they  were  soon  absorbed  in  the  adventures  of 
Aladdin ;  and  before  very  long,  they  were  fast  asleep,  with 
visions  of  magic  dancing  through  their  heads. 

As  Margaret  left  them,  the  warm  light  faded  from  her 
eyes,  and  something  of  the  dreary  look  came  back.  But, 
going  to  her  own  little  room,  she  took  her  Bible  to  read, 
saying  to  herself,  "  No  more  retrospection  to-night ;  I  have 
indulged  too  much  already.  But  these  way-marks — what 
reminders  they  are."  She  read  on  for  a  time,  trying  to  take 
the  words  of  wisdom  and  good  cheer  home  to  her  tired  heart ; 
but  the  spell  of  the  past  was  strong  upon  her,  and  gradually 
the  hand  holding  the  book  dropped  into  her  lap,  and  her 
thoughts  were  far  away.  Margaret's  life  in  the  days  to 
Avhich  her  thoughts  flew  back  was  not  like  the  pr 
homely  and  matter-of-fact.  She  almost  doubted  her  own 
identity  in  the  pictures  that  thronged  before  her. 

Their  home  then  was  one  of  comfort  and  elegance,  and 
their  mother  was  its  genius — the  embodiment  of  love,  purity, 
gentleness,  and  wisdom  ;  seeming  ever,  by  a  touch  here  and 
a  word  or  a  look  there,  to  smooth  the  wrinkles  of  every-day 
life,  to  draw  out  the  good,  and  disclose  a  bright  side  to 
every  cloud. 

1* 


10  MARGARET : 

The  light  faded  out  of  their  home  when  Margaret  was 
thirteen  and  Fanny  fifteen.  Their  mother  died,  leaving  them 
to  the  care  of  an  aunt,  their  father's  sister,  who  thought 
nothing  too  good  for  the  beautiful  Fanny,  and  no  sacrifices 
too  great  for  Margaret  to  make  for  her ;  thus  fostering  the 
selfishness,  Fanny's  besetting  sin,  which  their  mother  had 
striven  earnestly  to  eradicate,  until  she  seemed  to  care  for 
nothing  but  herself. 

As  they  grew  older,  Fanny  devoted  herself  to  society ; 
and  as  Margaret  cared  little  for  it,  but  found  her  enjoyment 
in  books  and  music,  the  sisters  were  nearly  as  much  apart  as 
if  they  had  had  separate  homes.  Margaret  formed  few  friend 
ships  ;  and  as  her  father  was  absorbed  in  business,  and  a 
man  of  few  words,  she  often  felt  utterly  alone.  But  there 
came  a  time  when  every  craving  of  her  warm  heart  for  love 
and  sympathy  was  satisfied. 

Robert  Russell  was  a  man  whom  any  woman  might  be 
proud  to  love — strong  arid  manly,  yet  gentle,  earnest,  true, 
and  wise,  with  high  aims  and  standards  for  himself,  unfail 
ing  charity  for  others,  and  a  power  to  love  that  a  life 
time  only  could  exhaust.  Margaret  rested  on  his  strong 
heart,  grew  radiant  in  the  sunshine  of  his  affection,  and 
was  happy,  as  such  natures  only  can  be,  for  one  short  year. 

Then  came  a  cloud,  no  bigger  than  a  woman's  hand,  but 
it  spread  and  spread,  and  grew  blacker,  until  it  covered  Mar 
garet's  sky,  and  Robert  Russell's  as  well.  One  day,  the 
memory  of  which  filled  Margaret  with  unspeakable  pain,  as 
she  sat  in  her  little  room,  a  letter  of  farewell  came  to  her, 
and  when  it  came,  the  writer  was  two  days  on  his  way  to 
China.  Margaret's  faith  in  Robert  Russell  survived  the 
agony  of  that  time,  though  she  would  not  harbor  the  sus 
picion  that  pressed  upon  her  as  a  solution  of  the  mystery. 

In  a  few  months  after,  her  sister  Fanny  was  married  to 
George  Sinclair,  and  in  three  years  she  was  left  a  widow, 
with  two  boys,  and  little  besides — for  her  husband,  though 
kind  and  worthy,  was  unsuccessful ;  and  when,  soon  after 
his  death,  Mr.  Crosby  failed,  they  all  moved  to  a  western 


A  8TOEY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PRAIRIE   HOME.  11 

farm,  where  they  had  spent  five  years  when  our  story  opens 
— five  tedious,  dull,  unprofitable  years  to  Fanny ;  five  com 
plaining,  repining  years  to  Mr.  Crosby;  and  five  years  of 
cheerful  toil  and  care,  of  self-discipline,  and  growth  in  every 
womanly  and  Christian  grace,  to  Margaret. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  utterly  failed  in  drawing  the 
sweet  from  the  bitter,"  she  thought,  as  she  opened  the 
Bible  again ;  "  but  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  great  and 
precious  truths  and  promises  of  this  dear  book,  what  should 
I  have  done  ?  They  have  never  failed  me ;  and  to-night, 
notwithstanding  my  backward  look,  I  feel  stronger  for  the 
rest  of  the  race." 


CHAPTER  H. 

Our  eyes  see  all  around,  in  gloom  or  glow, 

Hues  of  their  own,  fresh  borrowed  from  the  heart.        KEBLB. 

THE  next  morning,  almost  with  the  dawn,  Margaret  was 
busy  in  her  neat  little  kitchen ;  and  the  quickness  and  ease 
with  which  she  accomplished  her  homely  tasks  would  have 
charmed  a  looker-on.  It  might  even  have  seemed  that  skim 
ming  milk,  and  making  bread,  and  getting  breakfast,  were 
her  favorite  occupations,  for  her  gray  eyes  were  clear  and 
bright,  and  there  was  a  certain  little  air  of  eagerness  in  the 
care  she  bestowed  upon  one  thing  after  the  other ;  not  so 
much  as  if  she  were  in  a  hurry  to  see  it  disposed  of,  as  that 
she  was  intent  upon  doing  it  as  nicely  and  perfectly  as  pos 
sible.  As  she  worked,  she  sung  sweet  snatches  of  her  songs 
of  long  ago. 

Her  dress  was  the  plainest  calico,  and  a  checked  apron 
reached  nearly  to  her  feet ;  but  she  wore  a  fresh  linen  collar, 
and  her  dark  hair,  for  its  beauty  and  the  tastefulness  of  its 
arrangement,  would  have  adorned  a  drawing-room.  In  fact, 
through  all  Margaret  did,  and  all  she  wore,  shone  the  name 
less  grace  and  refinement  that  no  untoward  circumstances 
could  conceal. 

"  Good  morning,  Jotham,"  she  said,  as  that  individual 
appeared  with  his  milk-pails. 

"  Mornin',"  was  his  gracious  response. 

Margaret  went  to  the  pantry,  and  brought  the  shining 
pans  for  Jotham  to  strain  the  milk  into,  and  as  she  arranged 
them  on  the  table,  she  said :  "  There  is  something  I  should 
like  to  have  you  do  for  me  to-day,  if  you  can  manage  it." 

"  I  guess  I  ha'n't  much  more  managin  to  do  here,"  he 
muttered  ;  "  folks  as  asks  favors  the  hull  time  an'  never  grants 
none,  a'n't  the  kind  o'  folks  fer  me." 

"You  know,"  said  Margaret,  nothing  daunted  by  his  ill- 


A   STORY    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE   DOME.  13 

nature,  "I  have  been  wishing  for  a  month  past  to  go  and  see 

Mrs.  Johnson,  down  on Prairie,  but  I  haven't  liked  to 

take  the  horses  from  the  ploughing  ;  it  seemed  so  necessary 
that  it  should  be  done  before  the  heavy  rains  come." 

"  Wai,  so  it  is,  I  s'pose,"  said  Jotham,  taking  off  his  hat 
and  scratching  his  head. 

"  Mrs.  Johnson's  son  told  me  last  week  that  his  mother 
was  worse  than  ever  with  the  rheumatism,  and  this  morning, 
when  I  found  it  was  so  bright,  I  thought  we'd  all  take  a  half 
holiday,  and  do  several  things — go  to  see  Mrs.  Johnson,  and 
take  some  of  my  crab-apple  jam  to  your  mother;  you  know 
she  was  here  when  I  was  making  it." 

"  She  thought  it  was  mighty  good,  too." 

"  We'll  take  the  boys,  and  I  know  my  father  and  Mrs. 
Sinclair  will  like  to  go ;  that  is,  if  you  think  you  can  spare 
the  time." 

There  was  a  queer  expression  of  mingled  suspicion  and 
sheepishness  in  Jotham's  lanky  face,  as  he  looked  slyly  into 
Margaret's,  but  as  that  gave  no  sign  of  "  wanting  to  take 
him  in,"  as  he  expressed  it  mentally,  he  replied,  "  I  shouldn't 
much  wonder  ef  I  could  git  that  ar  patch  down  by  the  sheep- 
lot  ploughed  this  forenoon  ef  I  worked  pretty  smart,  an'  I  guess 
this  week  ull  finish  up  the  hull  on't.  Wai,  yes,  ef  you  say 
so,  I'll  tackle  up  the  team  arter  dinner,  an'  go  to  Miss  John 
son's."  Jotham  bolted  from  the  kitchen,  and  Margaret,  with 
a  merry  smile  on  her  face,  proceeded  \vith  her  preparations 
for  breakfast. 

"  Just  in  time,  my  dears,"  she  said,  as  the  sitting-room 
door  burst  open  and  the  two  boys  rushed  in,  each  clamoring 
for  the  first  kiss. 

"  You  got  the  first  yesterday  morning,  too,  George,"  cried 
Jack,  as  he  received  a  hearty  one  from  his  aunt,  and  gave  as 
hearty  a  one  in  return. 

"  Good  reason  why ;  I'm  the  smartest.  I  hurry  up  most, 
and  get  dressed  first,"  answered  George,  as  he  went  hopping 
about  the  kitchen  on  one  foot,  holding  the  other  up  with  his 
hand. 


14  MAKGAKET I 

"  Oh,  George,  what  a  fib  !  Aunt  Margaret,  after  I  was 
all  dressed,  and  had  my  hair  brushed,  he  put  me  into  bed 
again,  and  then  started  to  run;  but  I  got  here  'most  as  soon." 

"  Yes,  so  you  did.  ISTow,  Georgie,  put  both  your  feet  on 
the  floor,  take  this  dish  in  both  your  hands  and  put  it  on  the 
breakfast-table  ;  Jack,  you  carry  this." 

"  Aunty,  grandpa  says,  why  don't  we  have  breakfast  ?  " 
said  George,  coming  back.  "  Here,  I'll  carry  the  coffee  in." 

"  No,  no,  Georgie,"  said  his  aunt.  But  she  was  too  late ; 
the  handle  was  hot,  and  he  dropped  it  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
taken  hold  of  it.  The  boys  stood  aghast,  and  Margaret  in 
dismay  and  vexation,  to  see  the  boiling-hot,  fragrant  liquid 
spilled  over  the  floor. 

"  Oh,  George !  how  could  you  do  such  a  careless  thing  ?  " 

"  Oh,  aunty,  I'm  sorry — I'm  just  as  sorry  as  ever  I  can 
be." 

"  "Well,  never  mind,  dear ;  only  don't  undertake  such  am 
bitious  things  another  time.  The  water  is  boiling,  and  I  can 
make  more  in  a  few  minutes." 

"  Can't  I  wipe  it  up,  aunty  ?  "  asked  George,  in  a  sub 
dued  manner,  not  knowing  but  that  might  come  under  the 
head  of  "  ambitious  things." 

Margaret  would  have  preferred  to  send  him  into  the  other 
room,  but  he  looked  so  penitent  and  downcast  that  she  gave 
him  a  kiss  of  forgiveness  which  sunk  deep  into  his  boyish 
heart,  telling  him  to  get  the  cleaning-pail  and  cloth,  and 
see  what  he  could  do. 

Jack  wanted  to  help,  but  George  would  not  let  him.  He 
"  sopped "  up  the  coffee  and  wrung  out  the  cloth  a  great 
many  times,  until  the  floor  was  very  dry,  and  until  he  was 
quite  out  of  breath  with  his  exertions.  Then  his  aunt 
told  him  to  wash  his  hands,  for  the  new  coffee  was  made, 
and  breakfast  was  all  ready. 

At  the  table  Margaret  made  known  the  little  compromise 
she  had  effected  with  Jotham  for  a  ride,  instead  of  a  day's 
ploughing  for  Tim  Simpkins,  to  the  intense  delight  of  the 
boys,  and  the  subdued  satisfaction  of  Mr.  Crosby. 


A   8TOKY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PKAIRIE   HOME.  15 

"  Nothing  could  induce  me  to  go  on  such  an  expedition," 
Fanny  declared. 

"  Oh,  Fanny,  you  can't  mean  that  you  will  not  go  ?  I 
thought  it  would  be  such  a  pleasant  little  change  for  you. 
I  am  sure  you  would  enjoy  it,  the  day  is  so  bright  and  bra 
cing,"  pleaded  Margaret. 

"  I  am  not  so  anxious  for  a  drive,  much  as  I  need  it, 
as  to  be  willing  to  go  in  a  farm-wagon,  with  half  a  dozen 
people." 

"  That  need  hardly  be  an  objection,  one  would  think,  if 
the  half  dozen  people  are  your  father  and  children  and  sis 
ter,"  said  Margaret,  coldly. 

"It  would  be  an  objection  if  it  were  so  many  editions  of 
myself,"  answered  Fanny;  "my  nerves  wouldn't  bear  it. 
Besides,  I  am  not  anxious  to  cultivate  the  acquaintance 
of  Granny  Johnson  and  her  tribe." 

Mr.  Crosby  saAV  that  Margaret  looked  disappointed  and 
discouraged,  and  said,  "  I  think  you  had  better  go,  Fanny." 

"  It  is  useless  to  urge  it,  father ;  it  would  lay  me  on  my 
back  for  a  week." 

"  I  know  it  would  lay  me  on  my  back  for  a  week  if  I 
couldn't  go,"  said  George ;  "  wouldn't  it  you,  Jack  ?  " 

Jack  assented  with  emphasis. 

Margaret  was  tempted  to  say  "  we'll  give  it  all  up,"  she 
felt  so  disheartened  in  her  efforts  to  let  a  little  sunshine  into 
their  daily  round,  and  so  impatient  with  her  sister's  selfish 
ness  ;  but  she  forced  herself  to  say,  cheerfully,  "  Well,  I  am 
sorry  my  plan  does  not  please  you,  Fanny  ;  but  I  think  the 
boys  will  enjoy  it,  and  it  may  do  father  good." 

"IIuiTah  for  Auut  Margaret,  say  I!"  cried  George; 
"  she  knows  what's  good  for  boys  and  grandfathers." 

Margaret  shook  her  head,  but  George  could  not  be  sup 
pressed,  with  such  a  prospect  before  him. 

"  I  say,  Jack,  don't  you  remember  that  old  woman  that 
looked  just  like  old  Mother  llubbard  in  the  books,  and  how 
mad  she  got  'cause  I  said,  '  Mother  llubbard,  why  don't  you 
give  your  poor  dog  a  bone  ? ' "' 


16  MARGAEET I 

"  Yes,"  cried  Jack ;  "  and  the  poor  dog  looked  as  if  he 
never  saw  any  bones — " 

"Except  his  own  and  Mother  Hubbard's,"  interposed 
George ;  "  if  I'd  been  him,  I'd  have  picked  hers  for  not  giv 
ing  me  any  better  ones ;  "  and  the  boys  shouted  beyond  con 
trol  at  their  own  wit,  until  their  mother  retreated  to  save 
her  nerves.  Margaret  waited  till  they  had  spent  some  of 
their  wild  spirits,  before  she  attempted  to  show  them  how 
thoughtless  they  had  been  in  talking  so  lightly  of  an  old 
woman,  and  how  careless  of  their  mother's  comfort  and  the 
respect  they  owed  her.  She  disliked  noise  so  much,  and  it 
would  be  so  much  more  manly  for  them  to  be  gentle  and 
considerate  for  her.  Margaret  wondered  how  she  could 
have  lost  patience  with  Fanny  herself,  as  she  talked  to  the 
boys  of  her  poor  health,  and  her  having  so  little  to  make  lite 
attractive  with  that  drawback. 

The  forenoon  was  a  busy  one ;  for,  besides  the  several 
dainties  that  Margaret  conjured  out  of  small  materials,  to  be 
left  at  several  doors  on  the  road,  with  a  kind  word  to  add  to 
their  sweetness,  there  were  the  usual  household  duties,  and 
little  cares  for  her  father  and  sister ;  and  then  the  boys'  les 
sons  could  not  be  omitted.  What  firmness  and  patience 
were  needed  to  bring  their  attention  down  to  such  drudgery! 
Margaret's  head  ached  with  the  effort,  but  she  did  not  tell 
them  so.  Her  checks  and  admonitions  were  all  for  their 
good,  and  so  that  their  lessons  were  learned  and  they  were 
tolerably  quiet  and  good-natured,  she  cared  little  for  her  own 
discomfort. 

At  last  the  happy  moment  arrived,  and,  having  dashed 
back  to  kiss  their  mother,  as  she  sat  by  the  fire  with  her 
book,  the  boys  mounted  beside  Jotham  in  his  "Sunday-go- 
to-meetin's,"  Margaret  and  her  father  behind,  and  they  start 
ed  off.  Margaret  resolutely  put  from  her  all  troublesome 
thoughts,  and,  exhilarated  by  the  sunshine  and  the  keen  air, 
she  chatted  gayly  with  the  boys ;  and  even  succeeded  in  mak 
ing  her  father  forget  to  shiver  and  look  melancholy ;  and 
after  they  had  stopped  at  Mrs.  Johnson's,  he  would  even 


A  STOEY  OF  LIFE    IN  A  PKAIEIE   HOME.  17 

have  confessed,  if  he  had  been  asked  his  opinion,  that  she  en 
dured  probahly  more  bodily  pain  than  he.  But  then,  some 
people  were  born  to  those  things,  and  he  did  not  allow  that 
he  was. 

When  they  stopped  at  "  Mother  Hubbard's,"  where  Mar 
garet  left  something  from  her  basket  of  goodies,  George  and 
Jack  jumped  down,  and  patted  the  dog,  giving  him  some 
bread  and  meat  from  a  private  supply  of  their  own ;  but 
they  did  not  laugh  when  the  dog's  queer  little  owner  came 
hobbling  out  to  welcome  Margaret. 

A  little  while  before  sunset,  as  they  were  on  their  way 
home  by  a  different  road  from  the  one  they  came,  Jotham 
exclaimed  suddenly,  "  Hello  !  what's  that  ?  " 

They  all  listened,  and  heard  plainly  the  cries  of  some 
thing  in  distress,  whether  human  or  not  was  yet  uncertain. 

"  What  can  it  be  ?  "  said  Margaret.  "  The  sound  must 
come  from  that  little  shanty  further  on.  Yes,  don't  you  hear 
it  more  distinctly,  as  we  come  nearer?  " 

"You  had  better  turn  down  this  road,  Jotham,"  said  Mr. 
Crosby,  "  and  drive  on  as  fast  as  you  can ;  it's  a  very  suspi 
cious-looking  place,  and  very  lonely." 

"  Oh,  father,  no.  We  must  not  go  on,  and  leave  any  thing 
suffering  so.  It  is  a  child ;  don't  you  hear  its  cries  ?  Stop  at 
the  door,  Jotham." 

So  Jotham  stopped,  and  Margaret,  without  a  moment's 
hesitation,  only  heeding  her  father's  warnings,  so  far  as  to 
assure  him  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  got  out  of  the 
wagon  and  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  little  tumble-down 
house.  No  one  answered,  so  she  opened  it  and  went  in.  The 
cries  grew  less  and  less  until  they  ceased,  and  for  some  fifteen 
minutes  Mr.  Crosby  and  Jotham  watched  the  small,  dingy 
window,  through  which  they  could  see  a  bit  of  Margaret's 
shawl.  As  the  door  was  open  a  crack,  they  could  hear 
the  clear  tones  of  her  voice,  as  she  talked  to  the  inmates, 
whoever  they  might  be,  and  their  gruff  answers. 

By-and-by  the  door  opened  wide,  and  Margaret  came  out, 
leading  a  forlorn  specimen  of  black  humanity  by  the  hand. 


18  MAKGAKET '. 

The  two  forlorn  specimens  of  white  humanity  that  she  left 
behind,  a  man  and  woman  with  sullen  faces,  made  no  response 
to  her  pleasant  good-by,  but  stood  stolidly  looking  on,  while 
their  victim  was  bestowed  on  the  floor  in  the  back  of  the 
wagon. 

Then,  as  they  drove  away,  Margaret  explained  to  her 
astonished  companions  that  the  miserable  object  she  had 
rescued  was  a  girl  of  some  ten  or  eleven  years,  and  that  she 
was  going  to  take  her  home  and  make  a  "  help  "  of  her. 

Jotham  gave  a  low  whistle,  and  the  boys  leaned  this  way 
and  that,  to  gain  a  glimpse  of  "  little  nig." 

"Why,  Margaret,  what  folly!"  exclaimed  her  father. 
"  You  surely  have  taken  leave  of  your  senses.  She  looks 
more  like  an  ape  than  a  human  being." 

"  No  she  doesn't,  father ;  she  has  bright,  intelligent  eyes, 
and,  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken,  she  has  quick  wits  and  a 
warm  heart.  But  if  she  proves  nothing  but  a  trouble,  there 
was  no  help  for  it.  I  could  not  leave  her  to  the  cruelties  of 
those  creatures.  I  wonder  how  they  happened  to  settle 
here.  They  are  an  undesirable  acquisition  to  the  neighbor 
hood." 

When  they  reached  home,  Margaret's  "help,"  who  seemed 
to  have  been  gathering  her  courage  and  spirits  during  the 
ride  that  took  her  farther  and  farther  from  her  persecutors, 
scrambled  from  the  wagon  with  the  agility  of  a  monkey,  and, 
almost  before  the  horses  had  stopped,  stood  leaning  against 
the  gate-post,  with  her  hands  behind  her — her  white  teeth 
and  her  eyes  gleaming,  as  she  waited  for  the  others  to 
descend.  The  boys  were  down  first,  and  looked  at  her  much 
as  if  she  had  been  a  wild  animal,  while  she  twisted  herself 
about,  dug  her  bare  toes  into  the  dust,  and  thrust  her  tongue 
from  side  to  side. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  asked  George 

"  Miss  Linkum,"  she  answered  promptly. 

The  boys  laughed  loudly,  and  were  joined  in  their  mirth 
by  Margaret. 

"  Who  gave  you  that  name,  child  ?  " 


A   STOBY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIBIE    HOME.  19 

"  Dunno ;  reckon  my  dad  did,"  she  replied,  following  on 
as  they  walked  towards  the  house,  still  with  her  hands  be 
hind  her,  and  with  many  contortions  of  body  that  greatly 
edified  the  boys. 

"  Who  made  you  ?  "  asked  George,  curious  to  know  how 
far  her  religious  education  had  progressed. 

"  Specks  Massa  Linkum  did ;  he  made  mos'  all  de  brack 
folks." 

The  boys  were  too  much  horrified  at  such  heterodoxy  to 
laugh,  and  by  this  time  they  had  reached  the  house.  Mar 
garet  did  not  care  to  shock  her  sister's  nerves  by  introducing 
her  contraband  too  suddenly,  so  she  took  her  around  to  the 
kitchen-door,  bidding  the  children  go  and  tell  their  mother 
about  the  drive. 

"  Can  you  make  a  fire,  Miss  Linkum  ?  "  asked  Margaret, 
as  she  laid  her  hat  and  shawl  on  the  kitchen-table,  and  went 
to  the  wood-box  by  the  stove. 

With  a  queer  little  chuckle  and  an  "  I  reck'n,"  taking  the 
wood  and  shavings  from  Margaret's  hands,  she  placed  them 
lightly  together  in  the  stove,  and  then  dropping  on  her  hands 
and  knees,  blew  the  embers  that  had  been  covered  up  in  the 
ashes  into  a  flame,  and  having  put  on  more  wood  and  shut 
the  stove-door,  stood  with  her  hands  behind  her,  showing  all 
her  teeth  as  she  looked  into  Margaret's  smiling  face. 

"  How  long  have  you  lived  with  those  people,  child  ?  " 
asked  Margaret. 

"  Dunno,"  she  answered,  dropping  all  in  a  heap  on  the 
floor.  "  'Pears  like  it  was  'mos'  forty  years." 

"  Well,  poor  child,  you  shall  never  go  back  to  them,  if 
you  would  like  to  live  here,  and  let  me  teach  you  to  be  good 
and  useful.  Would  you  ?  " 

"Reck'n  should,  Missus;"  and  the  black  face  fairly 
shone  with  satisfaction. 

Fanny's  amazement  at  such  folly  on  Margaret's  part  knew 
no  bounds.  "  I  didn't  suppose  that  evecr  you,  Margaret, 
could  do  any  thing  so  Quixotic.  But  pray  keep  her  out  of 
my  sight.  I  shall  live  hi  constant  terror.  And  one  thing, 


20  MARGAEET. 

Margaret — she  must  not  sleep  up-stairs ;  I  never  should  be 
able  to  close  my  eyes." 

So  Margaret  made  her  a  bedroom  out  of  a  closet  opening 
from  the  kitchen.  It  seemed  like  a  small  paradise  to  Miss 
Linkum ;  and  if  she  knew  that  there  were  such  things  aa 
angels,  and  that  they  had  wings,  she  would,  no  doubt,  have 
been  greatly  surprised  to  hear  that  Margaret,  her  "mag- 
nicefunt  Mistis,"  had  none;  and  she  would  have  been  still 
more  so  if  she  could  have  known  what  a  warm  interest  she 
felt  in  her ;  how  she  was  planning  to  make  her  small  means 
meet  over  a  comfortable  wardrobe,  and  how  strong  her  desire 
was  to  let  the  light  of  life  into  her  benighted  little  soul. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

Yet  methinks 

You  might  have  made  this  widowed  solitude 
A  holy  rest,  a  spell  of  soft  gray  weather 
Beneath  whose  fragrant  dews  all  tender  thoughts 
Might  bud  and  burgeon.  KIXGSLET. 

"  CHLOE  !  Chloe  !  where  are  you  ?  "  shouted  George  one 
morning,  about  two  weeks  after  the  advent  of  the  individual 
at  the  farm  first  known  as  Miss  Linkum,  and  now  as  Chloe. 
"  Chloe !  Chloe !  what  are  you  at  ?  why  don't  you  come 
when  you  are  called  ?  " 

"  Why,  here  I  is,  Massa  George  ;  don't  you  see  me  ?  I'se 
been  sweepin'  yere  all  dis  time,"  answered  Chloe,  briskly,  as 
George  came  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  and  found  her 
sweeping  away  with  all  her  might  at  the  clean  flagging  in 
front  of  the  kitchen-door. 

"You  little  scamp,  why  didn't  you  answer  me  before, 
making  me  split  my  lungs  shouting  at  you,  and  you  hearing 
all  the  time  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  nebber  did  hear  you,  Massa  George.  I  nebber 
know'd  you  called  me,  nebber ;  an'  dat's  de  trufe ; "  and 
Chloe  shook  her  head  solemnly. 

"  You  tell  awful  stories,  Chloe.  Aunt  Margaret  will  shut 
you  up  again,  if  you  don't  look  out.  Come  along ;  mother 
wants  you." 

Chloe  dropped  her  broom  and  darted  into  the  house,  leav 
ing  George  to  follow  at  his  leisure. 

"  Where  have  you  been  all  this  time,  Chloe  ? "  asked 
Margaret,  who  was  hearing  Jack  say  his  history-lesson. 

"  I'se  done  been  sweepin'  an'  clarin'  up,  an'  been  huntin' 
eggs  in  all  the  nesses,  an' " 

"  I  told  you  not  to  hunt  for  eggs  any  more,  Chloe." 

"  Oh,  laus,  I  done  forgot,  Miss  Marg'et.  I'll  nebber  go 
near  dem  nesses  agin,  nebber ;  an'  dat's  de  trufe." 


22  MARGAKET : 

"  Well,  be  sure  that  you  don't,  unless  I  send  you.  Now, 
go  up  to  Mrs.  Sinclair." 

"  Oh !  what's  that,  Aunty  ?  "  cried  Jack,  seizing  hold  of 
Chloe's  right  arm,  and  pointing  to  a  big  round  lump  under 
her  left.  "  It's  plain  enough  to  see  what  she's  been  doing." 

"  Come  to  me,  Chloe,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  let  me  see 
what  you  have  in  your  dress." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Marg'et,  it  an't  nuffin — 'tan't  only  a  awful 
crack  I  gin  my  shin  when  I  was  workin',  an'  it  all  swelled 
up ;  but  it  don't  hurt  none,"  she  added,  eluding  Margaret's 
hand,  and  jamming  herself  against  the  wall. 

Margaret  rose,  and  led  Chloe  out  of  the  room,  much  to 
the  disgust  of  the  boys,  who  were  anxious  to  see  the  fun. 

"  Oh,  you  hurt  me  so,  Miss  Marg'et — it's  so  sore  !  "  cried 
Chloe,  as  Margaret  proceeded  to  examine  the  lump  in  her 
side. 

"  Take  the  apple  out,  Chloe." 

'"Tan't  a  apple,  Miss  Marg'et;  'tan't  nuffin  'fall,  an' 
dat's  de  trufe,"  declared  Chloe,  looking  straight  into  Mar 
garet's  eyes. 

"  Chloe,  mind  me  at  once,  and  take  the  apple  from  your 
dress." 

Without  further  parley,  Chloe  stuck  her  hand  into  the 
waist  of  her  dress,  and  produced  a  fine  pippin,  one  of  a  half 
dozen  from  a  graft  that  bore  for  the  first  time  that  year ;  and 
she  thereupon  burst  into  a  loud,  dolorous  cry. 

"  Chloe,  stop  crying,  and  tell  me  if  you  took  any  but 
this.  Tell  me  the  truth." 

"  I  declar'  I  didn't,  Miss  Marg'et.  Dis  one  jes'  failed  off 
of  de  closet  shef  right  onto  my  head,  an'  I  picked  um  up  an' 
was  jes'  agoin'  to  gib  um  to  you,  an'  dat's  de  trufe." 

"  I'm  very  much  afraid  that  it  isn't  the  truth,  Chloe ;  but 
I  shall  find  out  all  about  it ;  and  remember,  I  sha'n't  pass  it 
by  if  you  have  told  me  a  lie.  I  must  do  something  to  make 
you  feel  that  lies  are  dreadfully  wicked.  Mrs.  Sinclair  has 
been  waiting  for  you  a  long  time.  You  can  tell  her  that  I 
kept  you." 


A  STOBY  OF  LITE  m  A  PRAIRIE   HOME.  23 

Only  two  apples  remained  on  the  shelf  where  Margaret 
had  put  them  for  safe  keeping,  and  she  decided  to  try  the 
effect  of  close  confinement  on  Chloe  for  the  whole  of  the 
next  day. 

Chloe  had  shown  no  lack  of  ability  to  learn,  and  to  do 
well  whatever  she  was  set  about.  She  was  really  a  great  help 
to  Margaret  in  many  ways.  She  could  churn,  sweep,  set  the 
table,  and  wash  the  dishes  quickly  and  nicely,  if  nothing 
more  entertaining  claimed  her  attention ;  but  every  thing 
that  went  on  out  of  doors  seemed  to  demand  her  personal 
supervision.  If  she  happened  to  be  alone,  and  so  much  as 
a  dog  passed  the  window,  or  a  wagon  went  by  in  the  road, 
down  would  go  dish-towel  and  dish  on  the  floor,  or  the  stove- 
hearth,  or  where  not,  and  out  of  the  door  she  would  dash, 
either  to  give  chase  to  the  dog,  or  to  perch  herself  on  the 
gate-post,  where  she  would  sit  drumming  with  her  heels,  and 
singing  bits  of  plantation-songs,  until  re<jjdled  to  duty  by 
some  one  discovering  her  desertion. 

One  day  she  saw  Jotham  go  towards  the  pig-pen  with  a 
pail  of  sour  milk,  and  having  waited  till  he  had  poured  it 
into  the  trough,  and  disappeared  in  the  barn — as  a  general 
thing  she  preferred  to  keep  at  a  respectful  distance  from 
Jotham — she  started  for  the  pen,  with  a  potato  in  one  hand 
and  a  knife  in  the  other,  and  climbed  up  to  see  the  pigs  eat ; 
it  was  a  favorite  pastime  of  hers.  All  of  a  sudden,  as  she 
balanced  herself  across  the  edge  of  the  pen,  she  felt  herself 
tipping,  and,  though  she  threw  potato  and  knife  away,  and 
grasped  at  the  boards,  she  landed  head  first  in  the  trough. 
The  consequent  commotion  among  the  pigs,  and  the  screams 
of  Chloe,  brought  Jotham,  who  rescued  her  in  no  gentle 
manner,  and  took  her  to  the  house,  where,  in  spite  of 
her  limpings,  and  writhings,  and  other  attempts  to  excite 
sympathy,  her  appearance  caused  shouts  of  laughter  from 
Margaret  and  the  boys. 

For  a  week  Margaret  heard  her  say  her  prayers  every 
night,  and  then,  thinking  that  she  had  been  sufficiently 
drilled,  left  her  to  say  them  by  herself,  when,  instead  of 


24  MAEGAEET I 

kneeling  by  the  bed,  and  saying,  "  Our  Father,"  she  sat  on 
the  floor,  and  rocking  herself  back  and  forth,  muttered  some 
thing  in  a  sing-song  tone  that  certainly  was  not  a  prayer. 

Margaret  never  lost  patience  with  her.  She  had  counted 
the  cost  when  she  brought  the  child  from  her  wretched 
home,  and  never  doubted  that  time  and  care  would  develop 
the  moral  sense  of  which  she  seemed  so  sadly  devoid. 

Fanny  had  occasion  every  day  to  say,  look,  or  act,  "  I 
told  you  so,"  as  she  witnessed  Margaret's  trials  with  Chloe ; 
but  she  had  so  far  overcome  her  own  repugnance  as  to  have 
her  act  in  the  capacity  of  lady's-maid  mornings  when  she  felt 
languid,  and  rose  late.  She  even  allowed  her  to  brush  her 
long,  fair  hair — a  service  that,  strange  to  say,  Chloe  performed 
very  well,  only  once  or  twice,  in  the  course  of  the  half  hour, 
bringing  the  brush  down  harder  than  was  comfortable  on 
Fanny's  head,  and  only  now  and  then  giving  her  locks  a  se 
vere  pull.  Shewas  not  likely  to  commit  any  such  little  care 
lessness  with^mpunity,  for  Fanny's  slipper  was  always  at 
hand  to  administer  as  condign  punishpaent  as  her  small 
strength  would  admit. 

Fanny's  needing  help  in  performing  her  toilet  did  not 
grow  out  of  its  elaborateness.  She  took  care  of  her  beauti 
ful  hair  as  one  would  of  a  relic  of  some  lost  friend,  and  often 
sighed  over  it,  as  she  thought  of  the  days  when  it  shared 
universal  admiration  with  her  languishing  blue  eyes  and 
graceful  figure.  But  after  it  had  been  brushed  till  it  was 
soft  and  glossy,  she  gathered  it  up  in  a  careless  knot,  and 
put  it  in  a  net  for  the  day,  while  day  after  day  she  ap 
peared  in  a  faded  loose-gown  and  little  gray  shawl.  It 
never  occurred  to  her  that  it  might  have  a  cheering  effect 
if  she  were  to  wear  some  of  her  many  pretty  dresses  and 
laces  and  ribbons,  carefully  preserved  since  her  retirement 
from  society ;  but  even  if  it  had,  it  was  by  far  too  much 
trouble  to  dress  up,  when  there  was  nobody  to  look  at  her 
save  her  father  and  sister  and  children.  Away  off  on  a  West 
ern  farm,  there  was  no  object  in  looking  nice ;  and  when  she 
gave  Margaret's  dress  a  thought,  it  was  to  wonder  how  she 


A   BTOEY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   rKAIBIE    HOME.  25 

could  spend  so  much  time  over  it ;  she  must  be  fond  of  dress 
for  its  own  sake. 

This  morning  Fanny  was  feeling  "  unusually  feeble  and 
depressed,"  and  when  Chloe  had  brushed  her  hair  and  per 
formed  other  services,  she  told  her  that  she  should  not  leave 
her  room  that  day,  and  would  have  some  tea  and  toast,  and 
an  egg,  and  currant  jelly,  for  her  dinner.  "  And  here,  Chloe, 
take  this  blanket  down,  and  heat  it  to  put  around  my  feet. 
I  have  no  circulation  whatever ;  and,  child,  see  who  is  open 
ing  the  front  gate." 

Chloe  rushed  to  the  window. 

"  O,  laus,  I  dunno,  missus.  I'll  jes'  go  an'  see,"  and  she 
started  for  the  stairs. 

"  Is  it  a  man  or  a  woman  ?  "  cried  Fanny. 

"  A  man,  missus." 

In  another  moment  Chloe  had  opened  the  door  for  the 
visitor  without  his  having  the  trouble  of  knocking,  and 
stood  in  her  favorite  attitude,  hands  behind  her,  and  the  toes 
of  her  shoes  digging  into  the  floor,  waiting  for  him  to  enter, 
which  he  did  as  soon  as  he  recovered  from  the  start  her  sud 
den  appearance  gave  him. 

George  and  Jack  nudged  each  other,  and  laughed  behind 
their  books,  and  George  whispered,  "  Bag  of  bones  1 "  while 
Margaret  shook  hands  with  him  and  asked  him  to  sit  down, 
which  it  took  him  some  little  time  to  accomplish.  His 
joints  seemed  stiff,  and  cracked  as  they  bent.  His  legs  were 
long,  and  his  feet  so  large  as  to  be  in  their  own  way.  Being 
fairly  settled  in  his  chair,  he  set  his  tall,  narrow-brimmed 
beaver-hat  on  the  floor,  took  off  his  cotton  gloves  and  placed 
them  in  it,  wiped  his  long  face  with  his  yellow  handkerchief, 
smoothed  his  scanty  locks,  and  laying  his  hands  together, 
remarked,  "  Sister  Crosby,  I  hope  I  see  you  well." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Margaret,  who  had  sat  quietly  wait 
ing  to  hear  the  pleasant  hope  expressed,  while  the  boys  held 
their  books  tight  over  their  mouths,  "  I  am  very  well." 

"  I  am  most  happy  to  hear  it.  I  hope  Miss  Sinclair  is 
well  ?  " 

2 


26  MAEGARET : 

"  Thank  you,  yes,  as  well  as  usual." 

"  My  dear  young  friends,"  turning  slowly  towards  the 
boys,  "  I  hope  I  see  you  well?  " 

"  They  are  always  well,"  answered  Margaret. 

"  Well,  dear  friends,  health  is  a  inestimable  blessing,  and 
I  do  feel  to  hope  and  trust  that  you  appreciate  your  privi 
leges.  Many  of  my  flock  are  enjoying  very  poor  health  at 
this  present  time." 

Margaret  could  not  at  once  reply  to  that  remark,  and 
Mr.  Skinner  laid  his  hand  over  his  capacious  mouth,  and 
gave  a  short,  loud  cough,  that  might  have  startled  any  one 
hearing  it  for  the  first  time.  It  was  his  method,  apparently, 
of  giving  a  fresh  start  to  his  ideas,  or  filling  a  pause  that  was 
likely  to  prove  an  awkward  one. 

Casting  a  glance  around  towards  the  door,  and  espying 
Chloe,  he  hitched  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to  Margaret's,  and 
said,  "  I  see  you  have  a  colored  individooal  here.  Is  she 
temporal  or  permanent  ?  " 

"  Chloe  is  permanent,  I  hope,"  answered  Margaret ;  "  she 
has  been  here  two  weeks  already." 

"  Ah,  well,  I  hope  you  will  not  neglect  to  look  after  her 
gpiritooal  concerns.  She  has  a  immortal  soul,  even  if  she  has 
a  black  skin.  I  would  impress  that  upon  you,  sister  Crosby. 
We  orto  oversee  the  distinctions  of  color  and  race,  and  try  to 
do  good  to  all  ages  and  ranks  and  colors.  When  opportuni 
ties  is  set  afore  you,  embrace  'em." 

Margaret  answei-ed  that  she  hoped  she  should  always  do 
so,  and  then  excused  herself,  taking  Chloe  with  her  to  get 
dinner,  it  being  an  understood  thing  that  Mr.  Skinner  would 
eat  at  least  one  meal  with  them  whenever  he  came. 

Another  cough  enabled  him  to  remark  to  the  boys  that 
he  hoped  they  loved  their  books.  "  Books  is  very  valible, 
my  dear  young  friends,  but  while  you  love  your  jogaphy, 
'rithmetic  and  spellin',  dorft  neglect  books  that  distil  good 
principles  into  you.  I  have  some  tracks  here  that  I  can 
recommend  to  young  persons.  Here  is  one  on  the  sin  of 
gambling.  Let  me  forewarn  you  never  to  gamble.  Ah, 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE  IN   A   PBAIEIE   HOME.  27 

Miss  Sinclair,  I  hope  I  see  you  well,"  and  he  rose  gradually 
from  his  chair,  and  held  out  his  hand  and  wrist  to  Fanny, 
who  entered  the  room,  looking  as  she  never  did  except  when 
some  visitor  catne.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  Mr.  Skin 
ner  could  have  any  interest  for  her,  except  that  he  was  a 
person  outside  her  own  home-circle.  She  had  no  other 
reason  for  receiving  him  so  graciously. 

"Oh,  mother,  you  do  look  so  beautiful,"  cried  Jack, 
throwing  down  his  books,  and  stroking  her  pretty  blue  dress, 
and  then  her  hair.  "  I  do  wish  you  would  fix  up  so  every 
day." 

"There,  my  dears,  run  and  help  your  aunt,  while  I  talk 
with  Mr.  Skinner;  it  is  so  seldom  that  I  have  the  relief  of 
seeing  any  body,"  she  said,  turning  to  him,  as  the  boys.ran 
out  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Skinner  coughed,  and  seeming  to  consider  his  feet  in 
the  way  of  his  conversing  with  freedom,  tucked  them  back  as 
far  as  he  could  under  his  chair. 

"Are  you  still  a  wanderer?"  asked  Fanny. 

"  Yes,  even  so — for  the  present.  My  flock  is  a  scattered 
one,  and  I  take  aim  to  see  them  all  in  a  pastor's  capacity  now 
and  then,  and  I  preach  here'n  there,  whenever  I  can  git  an 
audience  togather.  But  I  think  I  see  a  opening  to  a  settle 
ment  now." 

Fanny  inquired  with  kind  interest  into  his  plans,  and 
while  they  conversed,  Margaret  and  Chloe  set  the  table,  and 
brought  in  the  dinner;  and  Mr.  Crosby  was  summoned  from 
his  room,  where  he  had  been  busy  all  the  forenoon  looking 
over  old  business-papers. 

"  Chloe,"  Margaret  said,  "  go  and  find  George.  I  sent 
him  to  lead  Mr.  Skinner's  horse  out  to  the  barn  for  Jotham 
to  take  care  of,  and  he  hasn't  come  in  yet." 

Mr.  Skinner,  in  the  capacity  of  pastor,  asked  a  blessing 
that  included  every  article  of  food  on  the  table,  touched 
upon  every  people  and  condition,  and  lasted  several  minutes. 
He  then  set  himself  energetically  to  the  business  in  hand, 
helping  himself,  to  things  within  his  reach — and  it  could 


28  MAEGAEET I 

hardly  be  said  that  any  thing  was  without  the  reach  of  his 
long  arm. 

Generally>  at  table,  the  conversation  was  confined  to  Mar 
garet  and  the  boys,  but  to-day  Fanny  was  bright  and  anima 
ted  ;  and  while  Margaret  deprecated  the  silly,  weak  vanity 
displayed  by  her  sister,  she  was  really  glad  to  see  her  drawn 
out  of  her  languor,  even  by  Mr.  Skinner. 

Margaret  was  not  a  little  amazed  when,  rising  from  the 
table,  that  gentleman,  with  considerable  shuffling  and  several 
particularly  loud  coughs,  signified  to  her  that  he  wished  to 
see  her  alone  for  a  brief  season,  as  he  had  a  few  words  to  say 
to  her  that  it  would  be  well  to  say  in  private. 

Fanny  looked  very  curious,  as  Margaret,  secretly  annoyed 
at  being  detained  when  she  wanted  to  see  about  George, 
who  had  not  come  iii  yet,  replied  that  she  would  have  to  ask 
him  into  the  kitchen,  and  led  the  way. 

Mr.  Skinner  stared  around  the  comfortable  place,  seeing, 
through  the  open  pantry-door,  hints  of  good  things  for  the 
outer  man,  that  seemed  to  encourage  the  inner,  for  he  coughed, 
and  began : 

"  Sister  Crosby,  I  have  been  a-feeling  for  some  time  past 
that  my  usefulness  to  my  fellow-creaturs  would  be  inhanced 
if  I  had  a  helpmeet  and  a  settled  habitation."  He  stopped 
to  cough,  and  then  continued. 

"  It  is  a  arduous  post,  but  I  am  sure  you  could  fill  it ;  and 
having  such  a  opportunity  to  take  a  post  of  usefulness,  you 
couldn't  fail  to  embrace  it." 

Margaret  managed  to  quell  a  merry  laugh  that  almost 
would  come,,  and  answered  with  a  tolerably  steady  voice, 

"  No,  Mr.  Skinner,  I  can't  embrace  this  opportunity.  I 
don't  see  that  it  would  add  to  my  usefulness  to  take  the  post 
you  refer  to." 

Mr.  Skinner  had  clasped  his  hands  together,  and  stood 
with  mouth  and  eyes  opened  wide  in  astonishment,  when 
Chloe  burst  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Marg'et,  it's  dre'fful !  oh,  laus,  an't  it, 
though !  "  and  she  broke  into  a  dismal  cry. 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  29 

"  Ohio  3,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Margaret,  catching  her  arm. 
"  Where  is  George  ?  " 

"  Oh,  laus,  he's  done  been  t'rown  off  de  boss,  an'  he's 
'raos'  dead.  Oh !  " 

"  Where _is  he,  Chloe?  tell  me,  quick!"  said  Margaret, 
her  face  perfectly  colorless. 

"  Down  in  de  field,  by  de  corn-crib ; "  and  Margar-et 
Availed  to  hear  no  more,  but  sped  across  the  yard  and  across 
the  fields,  Chloe  after  her.  Before  reaching  the  place,  she 
was  agonized  by  hearing  moans  of  pain. 

"  Georgie,"  she  called,  "  where  are  you,  darling  ?  " 

"  Here,  Aunty,"  answered  a  feeble  voice  ;  and  down  close 
by  the  corn-crib  lay  poor  George,  his  face  drawn  with  pain, 
and  pale  as  death. 

Margaret  bent  over  him  tenderly,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
his  head. 

"  My  poor  child,  what  is  it  ?     Where  are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  I  guess  it  ain't  much,  Aunty ;  but  I  can't  move  my  arm.'* 

"  Well,  my  love,  don't  try  to  move  it.  Jotham  is  com 
ing,  and  he  will  carry  you  home." 

A  little  way  from  them  stood  Mr.  Skinner's  lean,  hungry- 
looking  horse,  now  nibbling  at  the  withered  grass,  and  again 
casting  baffled  glances  at  the  yellow  corn  shining  through  the 
cracks  in  the  crib. 

Margaret  understood  it  all,  and  smiled  in  the  midst  of 
her  great  anxiety  for  George.  Jotham  raised  him  in  his 
strong  arms,  and  Margaret  walked  by  his  side,  holding  the 
well  hand  in  hers.  Chloe,  seeing  that  she  was  unnoticed, 
seized  the  bridle  of  the  hungry  animal,  and  dragged  him 
after  her  up  to  the  house. 

When  Fanny  saw  George  in  Jotham's  arms,  pale  and 
suffering,  she  fell  into  violent  hysterics,  obliging  her  father 
and  Jack  to  devote  themselves  to  her — for  Margaret  would 
not  leave  her  charge — while  Jotham  mounted  the  lean  horse 
and  rode  at  his  utmost  speed  for  the  doctor,  who  lived  three 
miles  away,  leaving  Mr.  Skinner  to  nurse  his  knees  as  lie 
watched  the  gradual  recovery  of  Mrs.  Sinclair,  and  listened 


30  MAEGAEET. 

to  George's  moans,  who  lay  in  his  little  bed  up-stairs,  tended 
by  his  aunt.  In  an  hour  Jotham  came  back  with  the  sorry 
tidings  that  .the  doctor  was  away  from  home,  and  would  not 
be  home  till  midnight.  Mr.  Skinner,  with  great  alacrity, 
climbed  upon  his  horse  and  rode  away,  and  Margaret  quietly 
gave  Jotham  minute  directions  with  regard  to  splinters,  and 
got  bandages  ready.  George's  arm  was  broken,  she  had  dis 
covered,  just  above  the  wrist,  and  she  would  not  run  the  risk 
of  leaving  it  till  the  doctor  could  come.  She  understood  the 
anatomy  of  the  arm,  and  felt  that  she  could  set  the  broken 
bone.  George  trusted  her  more  implicitly  than  he  would 
have  trusted  the  doctor,  and  bore  the  pain  like  a  man. 

Margaret  bore  her  pain  like  a  tender,  strong-hearted 
woman,  only  having  to  go  to  the  window  for  air  when  the 
arm  was  all  bound  up,  and  the  poor  boy  lying  pale,  but  quiet, 
with  a  dim  impression  that  an  angel  was  taking  care  of  him ; 
and  in  the  morning,  when  the  doctor  came,  he  declared  that 
he  could  not  have  done  better  himself. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

O  my  beloved  !    Art  them  so  near  unto  me, 

And  yet  I  cannot  behold  thee  ?  LONGFELLOW. 

"  I  AM  glad  the  sun  shines,"  thought  Margaret,  one  Sun 
day  morning,  as  she  stood  at  the  door,  looking  out. 

There  had  been  a  light  fall  of  snow  during  the  night,  that 
still  covered  the  brown  fields  with  a  mantle  of  glittering 
whiteness,  and  rested  in  soft  ridges  on  the  branches  of  trees 
and  the  tops  of  the  fences,  and  a  sky  of  cloudless  blue  smiled 
over  all.  The  air  was  keen  and  frosty,  making  Margaret's 
cheeks  glow  ;  and  the  sunshine  crept  into  her  heart,  and  shone 
out  through  her  eyes. 

"  01),  Aunt  Margaret,  isn't  this  a  jolly  day  ?  "  said  George, 
rushing  by  her,  and  taking  a  slide  down  the  snow-covered 
walk,  then  coming  back  with  his  collar  and  neck-ribbon,  and 
a  handkerchief  to  make  into  a  sling  for  his  arm. 

"  I  don't  think  jolly  is  a  very  nice  word  to  apply  to  Sun 
day  ;  do  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  maybe  it  isn't ;  but  don't  you  call  this  a  mighty 
nice  day,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  Georgie ;  I've  been  blessing  the  sunshine 
and  blue  sky,  and  the  beautiful  snow,  with  all  my  heart,  and 
I'm  glad  you  feel  so  happy  about  it,  too.  What  do  you  think 
of  a  ride  over  to  the  red  school-house  this  morning,  to  hear 
your  friend  Mr.  Thomas  preach  ?  " 

"  Aunty,  you  don't  mean  it !  Are  we  truly,  sure  enough, 
going?"  " 

"Truly,  and  sure  enough,  Georgie.  I  didn't  say  any 
thing  about  it  last  night,  it  seemed  so  likely  to  storm  to-day. 
I  didn't  want  to  disappoint  you  and  Jack ;  but  Mr.  Thomas 
saw  Jotham  yesterday  when  he  went  to  the  mill,  and  told  him 
that  he  was  going  to  preach  to-day,  and  hoped  we  could  all 
go." 


32  MAEGABET : 

"  It's  perfectly  splendid  ! "  cried  George.  "  I  never  was 
so  glad  of  a  thing  in  all  iny  life.  Ain't  it  as  much  as  three 
miles  there  ?  Are  we  coming  home  at  noon,  Aunty  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  are  very  anxious  to  !  Mr.  Thomas  said 
•we  must  go  home  with  Mrs.  Davis  to  dinner,  and  go  to  meet 
ing  again  in  the  afternoon." 

George  gave  vent  to  his  delight  in  various  ways,  last  of 
all  bestowing  upon  Margaret  a  violent  hug  and  kiss,  and 
then  rushed  up-stairs  to  tell  Jack  the  good  news.  As  Mar 
garet  turned  back  into  the  kitchen,  she  found  Chloe  sitting 
on  the  floor  near  by,  and  saw  that  her  attention  had  been 
devoted  to  the  plans  for  the  day,  while  her  work  had  been  at 
a  standstill. 

Chloe  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and  drew  it  down 
tight  by  the  corners,  as  she  said,  "  Ain't  I  gwine,  too,  Miss 
Marg'et  ?  " 

"  Going  where,  Chloe  ?  " 

"  'Long  o'  you,  and  Massa  George,  and  Massa  Jack." 

"  We  are  going  to  meeting,  Chloe.  What  makes  you 
think  you  would  like  to  go  ?  " 

"  I  seen  ole  Missus  go  times  'nough  down  in  Virginny, 
an'  I'se  like  to  go  'long  o'  you,  Miss  Marg'et." 

"  Well,  Chloe,  I  wish  you  could  go ;  I  should  like  to  take 
you,  and  have  been  trying  to  think  of  a  way ;  but  I  am  afraid 
you  will  have  to  give  it  up  this  time.  You  know  Mrs.  Sinclair 
will  want  her  breakfast  when  she  gets  up,  and  you  know  she 
and  my  father  must  have  some  luncheon.  If  you  are  a  good 
child,  you  shall  go  the  very  next  time  I  do." 

Chloe  went  about  her  work,  but  with  a  very  dejected  air. 

"Chloe,  do  you  remember  the  Bible  stories  I  told  you 
last  Sunday  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  as  she  busied  herself  about 
the  breakfast. 

"  Dem  ones  'bout  dat  ar  kind  Massa.  dat  cured  up  all  de 
sick  folks  ?  I  reckon  I  does." 

"  Well,  to-night,  when  I  get  home,  we  will  have  some 
more  Stories  out  of  the  Bible,  and  sing  hymns,  and  have  a  nice 
time." 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE   HOME.  33 

Chloe  brightened  up  very  much. 

"  Chloe,  bring  that  bowl  of  sour  cream  for  the  Johnny- 
cake." 

"  Dere  ain't  none,  Miss  Marg'et.  I  seed  Jotham  pour  dat 
ar  sour  cream  into  de  pig's  pail." 

Margaret  knew  that  Chloe  had  a  weakness  for  "  clabber," 
and  did  not  for  a  moment  credit  her  statement ;  but  said 
nothing,  waiting  to  see  if  her  awakening  conscience  would 
move  her  to  tell  the  truth,  as  it  had  done  several  times  of 
late. 

She  did  not  wait  in  vain ;  for,  after  clattering  among 
the  pans  and  dishes  on  the  table  a  little,  and  opening  and 
shutting  the  stove-door  violently,  as  if  to  drown  a  voice  she 
did  not  care  to  hear,  Chloe  darted  into  the  pantry,  and  called 
out,  "  Dat  ar  was  a  awful  lie,  Miss  Marg'et.  I  done  eat  it 
up.  Please  to  f 'gim'me." 

"  It  was  very  wrong  of  you  to  eat  the  cream,  Chloe ;  and 
I'm  very  sorry  you  didn't  think  in  time  to  tell  the  truth  at 
first.  But  I  am  sure  you  don't  mean  to  tell  any  more  wrong 
stories.  You  will  soon  learn  to  think  before  you  speak.  Of 
course,  I  will  forgive  you,  Chloe." 

Chloe  came  out  of  the  pantry  hanging  her  head,  and  feel 
ing  as  if  she  would  sooner  bite  her  tongue  off  than  do  any 
thing  to  vex  "  Miss  Marg'et "  again. 

Margaret  tried  to  persuade  her  father  to  go  with  them, 
but  he  dreaded  the  cold.  So  she  drew  the  lounge  near 
the  fire,  and  placed  a  stand  by  it  with  such  books  and  papers 
as  she  thought  he  might  want,  and  left  careful  directions  with 
Chloe  about  Fanny's  breakfast  and  the  lunch. 

There  was  nothing  that  Margaret  regretted  more  in  their 
isolated  life  than  not  being  near  a  church.  She  felt  it  for 
herself,  and  still  more  for  the  boys,  who  needed,  she  knew, 
every  good  influence  to  outweigh  that  of  the  inert,  self-indul 
gent  lives  of  their  mother  and  grandfather.  Mr.  Thomas's 
church  was  at  Joncsville,  eight  miles  from  the  farm,  and  it 
was  very  seldom  that  they  could  go  so  far.  Except  in  the 
winter  months,  the  horses  needed  Sunday  to  rest  from  their 

o* 


34  MAKGAKET : 

hard  week-days'  work,  and  in  winter  the  roads  were  almost 
impassable.  Mr.  Thomas  had  been  a  kind  iriend  ever  since 
they  came  to  the  farm,  but  he  lived  too  far  away  to  see  them 
often. 

He  was  an  earnest,  cheerful  Christian,  and  had  a  large, 
warm  heart,  with  a  great  deal  of  practical  wisdom.  His 
mind  instinctively  sought  the  beautiful  in  nature  and  the 
hopeful  in  people,  and  he  always  strove  to  let  the  light  in, 
rather  than  drive  the  darkness  out.  He  was  a  favorite  with 
old  and  young,  and  the  people  for  miles  around,  gathered  at 
the  little  red  school-house  on  that  bright  Sabbath  morning. 

The  benches  were  all  filled,  and  children  sat  on  desks 
placed  against  the  wall,  and  a  few  men  stood  back  by  the 
door ;  but  there  was  perfect  quiet  as  soon  as  Mr.  Thomas  rose 
in  his  desk,  and  gave  out  the  opening  hymn, 

"  How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord." 

There  was  a  little  delay,  and  then  a  full,  clear  tenor  voice 
sung  the  first  few  notes  of  the  grand  old  Portuguese  Hymn, 
and  all  followed. 

Why  did  that  first  strain  send  such  a  wild  thrill  through 
Margaret's  heart  ?  To  other  ears  the  voice  was  a  pleasant 
one,  but  to  Margaret's  it  was  like  the  sounding  of  a  reveillb, 
awakening  the  music  of  long  ago,  and  summoning  a  crowd  of 
memories,  of  hopes  and  fears,  of  happy  love,  of  joys  and  woes, 
which  came  thronging  together  upon  her  heart  and  brain, 
while  she  sat  spellbound  among  the  singers,  seeing  nothing 
but  scenes  from  the  past,  gleaming  and  fading,  ever  chang 
ing  ;  hearing,  above  the  voices  around  her,  above  the  confu 
sion  of  sounds,  in  her  own  heart,  those  awakening  tones. 

The  hymn  ceased,  and  with  the  stillness  that  followed 
came  a  hush  upon  Margaret's  wildly-throbbing  pulses,  and 
she  sat  as  one  in  a  dream,  mechanically  bowing  her  head 
when  the  words,  "  Let  us  pray,"  fell  vaguely  on  her  ear,  un 
consciously  following  the  words  of  the  earnest  prayer,  mechan 
ically  raising  her  head  when  the  "Amen"  was  uttered. 
Then  she  waited,  scarcely  breathing,  while  the  Scriptures  and 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  35 

another  hymn  were  read,  to  catch  the  first  sound  of  that 
voice.  Again  it  sent  a  deep  thrill  to  her  heart,  but  now 
the  memories  summoned  by  the  first  notes  of  the  sweet  re 
veille  no  longer  crowded  upon  her  in  wild  confusion.  A 
calm,  dreamy  sense  of  a  presence  crept  over  her,  and  never 
thinking  to  wonder  or  question,  or  feeling  in  haste  to  have 
the  sense  verified  by  sight,  she  heard  as  from  afar  off  the 
words  of  the  text :  "  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in"  perfect  peace 
whose  mind  is  stayed  on  Thee."  She  even  felt  an  answering 
consciousness  as  Mr.  Thomas  dwelt  upon  the  perfect  peace 
that  is  made  the  right  of  every  child  of  God ;  upon  the  per 
fect  faith  that  brings  such  peace,  and  upon  the  glorious  foun 
dation  for  such  faith;  and,  though  the  words  sounded  remote 
to  her  ear,  her  heart  felt  their  influence,  and  in  the  closing 
prayer  and  the  benediction,  mingling  with  the  sense  of  the 
presence,  came  gratitude  for  the  peace  that  had  never  for 
saken  her  in  all  her  troubles. 

The  spell  came  over  her  again  when  the  bustle  of  moving 
feet  and  the  subdued  hum  of  voices  began,  and,  as  in  t 
dream,  she  shook  hands  with  one  and  another,  returning 
kindly  greetings,  and  waited. 

Again  that  wild  thrill,  as  the  voice  reached  her,  saying : 
"  I  must  bid  you  good-by,  Mrs.  Davis ;  I  am  sorry  to  go,  but 
I  fear  there  is  no  help  for  it." 

"Are  you  really  going  to  leave  us  now?"  asked  Mr. 
Thomas,  pressing  past  Margaret  with  outstretched  hand. 
"  I  hoped  you  would  at  least  go  to  my  sister's  to  dinner." 

"  Thank  you,  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure ;  but  I 
must  take  the  midnight  train  from  Jonesville,  and  I  shall 
have  but  little  time,  as  it  is,  to  see  my  kind  aunt." 

"  Won't  you  stop  on  your  way  back  ?  " 

"  No "  and  Margaret  lost  the  rest,  except  the  words, 

"  Good-by,  good-by." 

At  these  knell-like  sounds  Margaret  turned,  and  saw  a 
face  with  dark  earnest  eyes,  lighted  up  by  a  smile  that 
seemed  to  Margaret  like  a  ray  of  brightest  sunshine.  An 
instant,  and  the  face  was  turned  away,  and  disappeared  in 


36  MARGARET I 

the  crowd  of  curious  people  at  the  door.  A  moment  more, 
and  horses'  hoofs  and  carriage-wheels  sounded  on  the  stonea 
in  front  of  the  school-house,  then  along  the  road,  and  died 
away  in  the  distance. 

"  Why,  Aunty,  why  don't  you  speak  to  Mrs.  Davis  ? 
She  has  asked  you  twice  if  you  were  ready  to  come  home 
with  her,"  George  said,  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm. 

"  O,  I  didn't  hear  you ;  yes,  I  am  ready  to  go  home.  Let 
us  go  at  once." 

George  looked  alarmed. 

"You  don't  mean  our  home,  do  you,  Aunt  Margaret? 
You  said  we  were  going  to  Mrs.  Davis's,  and  she  wants  us 
to." 

Margaret  looked  at  George  and  at  Mrs.  Davis,  who  was 
perfectly  mystified  by  Margaret's  strange  manner,  and  dis 
tressed  at  her  exceeding  paleness. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  gently,  "  you  are  not  well.  Come 
home  with  me,  and  have  a -cup  of  tea,  and  take  a  rest,  and 
you  will  feel  better.  The  room  is  close  and  warm." 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Mrs.  Davis  took  Margaret 
up-stairs,  and  said :  "  Is  there  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you,  my 
dear  ?  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  in  your  body  or  your 
heart  that  you  are  ailing,  but  I  know  there  is  a  trouble 
somewhere,  and  if  there  is  any  thing  I  can  do  to  relieve  it, 
you  will  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  there  is  nothing — if  you  will  let  me  rest  a 
little  while." 

"  That  you  shall  do,  dear.  Dinner  isn't  ready  yet,  and 
even  when  it  is,  you  needn't  come  down."  And  she  went 
out  and  left  Margaret  alone  with  her  new,  bewildering 
agony,  and  with  Him  Avhose  promise  of  peace  excepts  no 
circumstances,  has  but  one  condition. 

When  dinner  was  nearly  over,  the  door  opened,  and 
Margaret  came  in  and  took  her  place  at  the  table.  She  was 
very  pale,  and  her  hair  was  brushed  back  from  her  forehead 
as  if  she  could  not  bear  its  weight ;  but  the  look  of  pain  had 
left  her  face,  and  her  smile  was  not  forced,  as  she  said,  "I 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   PBAIRIE   HOME.  37 

am  not  to  blame  for  being  so  late ;  you  didn't  call  me,  and  I 
heard  no  bell." 

"  No,  of  course  I  didn't  call  you,  and  I  see  I  was  wise, 
for  you  look  better  for  the  little  rest." 

"  You  are  a  very  wise  little  woman,  Jenny,"  said  her 
brother,  "  and  generally  have  your  wise  way  ;  but  you  did 
not  succeed  in  keeping  Mr.  Russell,  for  which  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"So  am  I." 

"  And  so  are  the  children,"  added  Mr.  Davis.  "  There 
was  a  great  lamentation  among  them  when  they  found  he 
had  really  gone,  though  he  bade  them  good-by  this  morn- 
ing." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  turning  to  Margaret ;  "  he  only 
came  last  night,  and  yet  he  has  carried  the  children's  hearts 
away  with  him." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Russell,  any  way  ?  "  asked  George,  who  had 
been  hearing  his  praises  from  the  Davis  children. 

"  He  is  a  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Thomas,  "  who  went  to 
China  some  ten  years  ago  and  made  a  great  deal  of  money, 
and  has  come  home  to  live  in  New  York  and  enjoy  it.  And 
a  great  deal  of  good  he  does  with  it." 

"Well,  what  has  he  come  'way  out  here  for,  if  he  lives 
in  New  York  ?  " 

"  He  has  a  sister  living  in  St.  Louis,  whose  husband  died 
very  suddenly,  and  he  is  going  on  to  settle  up  his  affairs,  and 
take  his  sister  home  to  New  York,  if  she  prefers  to  leave 
St.  Louis.  Is  that  satisfactory,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  You  see,  Georgie,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  "  our  father  and 
his  father  lived  in  New  York  when  we  were  all  children, 
and  we  went  to  school  together,  and  Mr.  Thomas  and  Mr. 
Russell  Avere  great  friends.  So  he  came  a  little  out  of  his 
way  to  see  us." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Margaret,  I'm  going  to  China  when  I  get 
grown  up,  wouldn't  you?  And  then,  when  I've  found  a 
lot  of  money,  I'll  buy  a  big  house  in  New  York,  and  we'll  be 
as  grand  as  any  thing.  Won't  that  be  jolly?  " 


38  MABGAKET. 

"  Yes,  but.  by  that  time  I  shall  be  wearing  mob-caps  and 
spectacles ;  so  you  must  not  count  on  my  keeping  house  for 
you." 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho !  as  if  you  could  ever  get  as  old  as  that !  " 
They  all  went  to  meeting  again  in  the  afternoon,  and 
no  one  could  have  told  that  Margaret's  heart  had  been  so 
fiercely  tried  that  day — that  she  was  still  in  the  "  deep 
waters,"  and  testing  to  the  full  the  strength  of  that  promise 
of  peace. 


CHAPTER  V. 

So  tired,  so  tired,  my  heart  and  I.       MRS.  BROWNING. 

IT  was  snowing  fast  when  Margaret  and  the  boys  re 
turned  home  from  the  little  red  school-house,  and  it  was 
nearly  dark. 

"  Come  into  the  kitchen,  children,  and  shake  the  snow 
off,"  said  Margaret. 

The  kitchen  was  cold  and  dark — no  light  and  no  fire — 
and  Margaret  felt  disappointed ;  she  had  expected  better 
things  of  Miss  Linkum. 

"  Well,  Margaret,"  was  Fanny's  greeting,  as  they  entered 
the  sitting-room;  "  I  am  curious  to  know  what  you  will  say 
now  to  the  wisdom  of  taking  a  little  black  vagrant  into  the 
house,  and  treating  her  like  a  civilized  human  being." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Fanny  ?    What  has  Chloe  done  ?  " 

"  Done !  Something  that  I  think  you  ought  to  feel  very 
thankful  for;  but  I  suppose  you  will  consider  it  a  great 
affliction." 

"You  speak  in  riddles,  Fanny.  Pray  tell  me  what  is 
the  trouble." 

"  Chloe  has  gone  away,"  said  Mr.  Crosby,  from  the  sofa. 

"  Gone  away  ! "  cried  the  boys,  in  amazement. 

"  Yes,  run  away,"  said  Fanny  ;  "  and  it's  my  opinion  we 
are  well  rid  of  her,  though  I  should  like  to  know  that  she 
didn't  carry  any  thing  away  with  her.  To  think  how  I  let 
her  brush  my  hair  and  be  in  my  room  so  much — the  little 
ingrate ! " 

"  How  do  you  know  she  has  run  away  ?  When  did  you 
miss  her  first  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  She  went  soon  after  noon,"  said  Mr.  Crosby. 

"  Yes,"  said  Fanny  ;  "  she  got  my  breakfast  when  I  woke, 
and  I  must  say  it  was  quite  nice,  considering ;  and  when  I 


40  MAKGAKET  : 

got  up,  she  laced  my  boots  and  did  my  hair ;  but  when  I  was 
through  with  her,  she  hung  round  my  chair,  asking  me 
questions  that  I  didn't  half  understand,  about  how  '  Miss 
Marg'et  found  out  dem  t'ings '  about  something  or  other, 
I  don't  know  what ;  and  when  I  told  her  I  couldn't  be  trou 
bled  with  her,  she  asked  if  you  would  be  gone  much  longer. 
I  suppose  she  wanted  to  find  out  if  she  had  time  enough  to 
get  away." 

"  Oh,  it  was  not  that,  I  know,"  said  Margaret,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes. 

"  Well,  then  she  left  my  room,  and  by-and-by  I  heard 
father  calling,  and  came  down  to  see  if  any  thing  was  the 
matter,  when  he  told  me  that  Chloe  had  just  gone  off  with 
some  persons  he  had  seen  prowling  around." 

"Who  were  they, father?  What  did  they  look  like?" 
asked  Margaret,  anxiously. 

"  I  think  they  were  the  people  you  took  Chloe  from.  I 
got  up  to  take  a  turn  or  two  across  the  room,  and  as  I  passed 
the  window,  I  saw  two  very  shabby,  ill-looking  creatures — a 
man  and  a  woman — walking  slowly  by  on  the  other  side  of 
the  road,  and  looking  slyly  at  the  house.  I  didn't  pay  much 
attention  to  them,  but  pretty  soon  Chloe  came  down-stairs 
and  went  into  the  kitchen,  and  then  I  heard  her  singing  out  in 
the  yard.  By-and-by  I  heard  the  sound  of  persons  running  in 
the  road.  I  went  to  the  door,  and  there  were  that  same  man 
and  woman,  with  Chloe  between  them,  making  from  the 
house  as  fast  as  they  could  go.  I  called,  and  Chloe  looked 
back,  but  they  only  ran  the  faster — and  that's  the  last  of 
them." 

"  How  could  you  think  the  poor  child  had  run  away  ?  " 
asked  Margai'et,  the  hot  tears  falling  over  her  pale  cheeks. 
"  She  has  been  stolen  by  those  same  cruel  wretches.  Georgie, 
run  out  to  the  barn,  and  tell  Jotham  that  I  want  the  horses 
and  wagon  again  right  away.  Tell  him  to  make  haste." 

"  You  are  insane,"  said  Fanny ;  "  it  is  at  least  four  hours 
since  they  started." 

"It  is  madness,  Margaret,  in  such  a  storm,  and  so  nearly 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PEAIBIE    HOME.  41 

dark  as  it  is,"  said  her  father.  "  If  the  child  is  stolen,  I  am 
really  sorry  for  her ;  but  you  cannot  find  them." 

Just  then  there  was  a  great  deal  of  stamping  in  the  kitchen, 
and  a  moment  after,  Jotham's  head  appeared  at  the  sitting- 
room  door. 

"  What's  this  about  takin'  them  hosses  out  agin  to-night  ? 
That's  somethin'  beyend  my  carkalations.  It's  snowin'  an' 
blowin'  like  fits." 

"  It's  something  very  important,  Jotham,"  said  Margaret ; 
"get  the  wagon  as  quick  as  you  can,  and  I'll  tell  you  where 
I  want  to  go." 

"  Wai,  I  s'pose  ther's  no  help  for't.  I'm  ready  when  you 
be ; "  and  he  shut  the  door  not  so  very  gently,  and  Margaret 
put  on  her  things. 

"  I  am  only  going  to  see  if  they  have  taken  her  back  to 
the  old  place,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  her  father's  remonstran 
ces.  "  I  am  afraid  it  is  a  forlorn  hope,  but  I  could  not  rest 
without  doing  that  much." 

It  was  a  forlorn  hope,  for  they  found  the  old  shanty  de 
serted,  the  door  partly  open  and  the  snow  drifting  in ;  and 
there  was  nothing  left  to  show  that  any  thing  in  the  shape  of 
humanity  had  ever  been  there,  except  the  miserable  straw 
pallet  that  lay  in  one  corner ;  and  Margaret's  heart  ached  for 
poor  Chloe — perhaps  even  then  being  dragged  through  the 
driving  storm  by  her  tormentors. 

The  evening  passed  drearily  enough.  Mr.  Crosby  was 
silent,  as  usual ;  Fanny  dozed  awhile  in  her  easy-chair,  and 
then  went  to  bed  ;  the  boys  were  tired  and  cross,  and  Mar 
garet  felt  more  utterly  sad,  hopeless,  and  desolate  than  ever 
before.  The  loss  of  Chloe,  strange  to  say,  seemed  uppermost. 
It  was  a  trouble  that  she  could  grasp ;  it  was  the  certain 
misery  and  degradation  of  one  who  had  aroused  her  warm, 
pitiful  interest,  and  whose  constant  proofs  of  a  loving  heart, 
and  quick,  bright  intelligence,  had  strengthened  that  interest 
every  day. 

The  other  trouble  was  bewildering,  and  was  to  be  realized 
as  her  doubly  "  desolated  days  "  went  on. 


4:2  MARGAEET  : 

So,  as  she  lay  awake  nearly  the  whole  of  the  long  night, 
hearing  the  wind  whistle  around  the  house,  and  the  snow 
beat  against  the  window,  it  was  of  Chloe  that  she  thought 
most ;  and  mingling  with  her  pity  and  anxiety  for  the  poor 
fugitive,  came  the  question,  Why,  in  going  to  meet  the 
strange  ordeal  of  that  day,  need  she  have  left  Chloe  to 
such  a  dreary  fate  ? 

When  she  did  sleep,  it  was  to  dream  wild  dreams  that 
were  more  painful  than  her  waking  thoughts.  Only  once  she 
had  a  little  respite  from  the  terrible  dangers,  the  weary  jour 
neys,  the  hopeless  partings  from  loved  ones,  that  haunted  her 
sleep.  For  one  blessed  moment  she  felt  her  mother's  arms 
around  her,  her  head  resting  on  her  bosom,  and  she  thought 
that  after  the  long  years  of  separation  they  were  to  part  no 
more.  But  when  she  looked  into  those  sweet  eyes,  and  began 
to  recount  her  sorrows,  gradually  the  lovely,  tender  face  faded 
from  her  gaze,  the  warm  encircling  arms  fell  from  her,  and  a 
shadowy,  mist-like  form  floated  away,  slowly  and  sadly,  leav 
ing  her  alone  and  desolate  again,  to  listen  with  wildly-beating 
heart  to  wind  and  storm,  and  to  feel  as  if  she  had  been  per 
mitted  to  taste  the  joys  of  paradise  only  to  be  banished. 

Morning  came  at  last,  and  Margaret  lay  with  her  eyes 
fixed  languidly  on  the  snowy  panes,  through  which  she  could 
see  the  few  flakes  that  "still  wavered  down,"  when  there 
came  a  loud  continuous  knocking  at  her  door,  and  Jack 
called, 

"  Aunty,  why  don't  you  come  down  ?  We're  all  of  us 
dressed  and  ready  for  breakfast,  and  there  ain't  any.  Oh,  are 
you  sick  ?  "  he  said,  opening  the  door  wider,  and  coming  to 
her  bed.  "  Why,  you  are  most  as  pale  as  the  pillow-case, 
Aunt  Margaret.  Are  you  very  sick  ?  " 

"  No,  not  very,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  BO  low  and  weak 
that  Jack  hardly  knew  it,  "  but  I  don't  feel  strong  enough 
to  get  up  this  morning.  lias  Bridget  come  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunty  ;  she's  been  here  a  good  while,  I  guess." 

<;  Has  Jotham  made  the  fires  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunty." 


A  STORY  OF   LIFE  IN  A  PEAIEIE   HOME.  43 

"  Well,  Jacky,  tell  Bridget  that  I  am  not  very  well,  and 
ask  her  to  get  the  breakfast ;  and  you  show  her  where  the 
things  are.  You  and  Georgie  can  set  the  table." 

"  Well,  we  will,  but  I  should  like  to  do  something  for 
you,"  Jack  replied  wistfully. 

"  That  will  be  for  me,  dear,"  and  Margaret  turned  away, 
as  if  too  weary  to  say  more. 

Jack  went  softly  down-stairs  to  tell  his  grandfather  and 
George  and  Bridget  how  sick  his  Aunt  Margaret  was,  how 
white  and  weak.  George  started  for  the  stairs,  and  Mr.  Crosby 
followed  slowly,  thinking  how  much  trouble  he  had.  Jack 
ran  to  ask  George  not  to  make  such  a  noise,  for  if  Aunt 
Margaret's  head  ached,  he  would  make  it  worse  ;  so  George 
went  into  the  room  on  tiptoe.  She  opened  her  eyes  and 
smiled  as  her  father  and  George  came  to  her  bedside,  and 
looked  anxiously  at  her  ;  but  she  did  not  speak.  Mr.  Crosby 
felt  her  pulse,  and  laid  his  hand  on  her  forehead. 

"  You  have  no  fever,  child.  Does  your  head  ache  ?  Is 
your  throat  sore  ?  " 

"  No,  father,  I  am  only  tired ;  I  shall  be  rested  by-and-by." 

"  Why,  couldn't  you  get  rested  in  a  whole  night  ?  "  asked 
George,  in  surprise.  "  I  was  most  tired  to  death  last  night, 
but  now  I  ain't  the  least  bit." 

"  I  shall  have  Bridget  make  you  a  cup  of  tea,  child ;  that 
will  refresh  you,"  said  her  father. 

"I'll  make  it  myself;  I  know  how,"  said  George;  and 
down  he  went,  confiding  to  Jotham,  who  was  in  the  kitchen, 
that  his  aunt  was  very  sick. 

Jotham  declared  himself  "  not  at  all  surprised,  arter  that 
harum-scarum  ride  in  the  snow,"  and  without  consulting  any 
body  but  himself,  when  he  had  shovelled  paths  for  Bridget's 
convenience  in  hanging  out  the  clothes,  he  saddled  a  horse 
and  went  for  Dr.  Somers. 

"  Father,"  said  Margaret,  as  Mr.  Crosby  turned  to  leave 
the  room,  "  will  you  have  Jotham  make  inquiries  about  poor 
Chloe,  and  have  every  thing  done  that  cau  be,  to  get  some 
trace  of  her  ?  " 


4A  MARGARET  : 

"  Yes,  I  will,  though  I  am  afraid  it  will  do  no  good." 
.  The  table  was  set  very  neatly,  the  boys  taking  pains  to 
have  every  thing  as  their  aunt  liked  it ;  but  the  breakfast 
gave  proof  that  every  body  did  not  cook  as  nicely  as  she 
did.  The  beefsteak  was  fried  in  lard,  the  bread  was  cut  in 
"  chunks,"  as  George  said,  the  coffee  was  muddy,  and  Mr. 
Crosby  and  the  boys  wondered  how  many  such  meals  they 
should  have  to  eat.  George's  tea  was  much  more  successful 
than  Bridget's  coffee. 

Fanny  never  knew  Margaret  to  be  sick  before,  since 
they  had  measles  and  scarlet  fever  together,  when  they 
were  children,  and  was  greatly  surprised  and  dismayed,  when 
she  came  down-stairs  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  to  find 
the  doctor  taking  off  his  great-coat,  and  warming  his  hands 
preparatory  to  a  professional  visit  to  her  sister.  The  shock 
was  so  great  to  her  nerves,  that,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
pleasant  little  excitement  of  the  doctor's  unexpected  presence, 
she  would  certainly  have  had  hysterics.  Perhaps  the  fact 
that  he  had  very  little  appreciation  of  such  demonstrations, 
and  had  once  or  twice  checked  hers,  rather  too  summarily 
for  graceful  effect,  helped  her  to  restrain  her  feelings. 

"  I  hope  Margaret's  case  isn't  a  serious  one,"  she  said,  as 
the  doctor  took  up  his  medicine-chest. 

"  I  hope  there  is  nothing  contagious  the  matter  with  her," 
he  answered,  with  a  curious  twinkle  in  bis  keen  blue  eyes ; 
"  but  if  I  find  it  is  nothing  serious  enough  to  keep  her  safe 
in  bed,  for  a  week  at  least,  I  shall  surely  bleed  or  blister  her. 
I  have  been  wishing  for  a  long  time  to  see  the  young  woman 
laid  by  for  awhile,  and  I  won't  be  baulked  ; "  saying  which, 
he  went  up-stairs. 

He  shook  his  head  as  he  met  Margaret's  languid  eyes, 
that  always  had  a  bright  welcome  for  him,  and  felt  her  feeble 
pulse. 

"  Child,  what  do  you  mean  by  having  such  a  dead-and- 
alive  wrist  as  that,  and  such  faded-out  looking  eyes  ?  I  ex 
pected  to  find  you  with  a  galloping  pulse,  and  a  red  face, 
that  I  could  put  down  at  a  dose,  and  then  give  you  some 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A    FRAIKIE   HOME.  45 

thing  to  keep  you  in  bed  a  week  or  so.  What  have  you 
been  doing  ?  " 

Margaret  smiled  faintly,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  Don't  you  shake  your  head  at  me,  Miss.  There  is  some 
thing  to  pay  when  any  body,  especially  such  a  body  as  you, 
gets  so  exhausted  and  lifeless.  Why,  you  hardly  take  the 
trouble  to  breathe.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of 
you  ;  "  and  he  knit  his  shaggy  brows  over  his  medicine-case. 

"  Doctor,  you  know  my  Chloe,  that  you  thought  was  so 
handy  and  bright  when  George  broke  his  arm  ?  " 

"  Yes.     What  of  her  ?  " 

"  Yesterday,  while  we  were  gone  to  church,  the  man  and 
woman  I  took  her  from  came  and  stole  her  away." 

"  The  dickens  they  did !  "  cried  the  doctor,  looking  at 
Margaret.  "  Is  that  the  trouble — pooh !  no,  of  course  it  is 
not.  Well,  can  I  do  any  thing  about  it,  I  wonder  ?  I  can 
make  inquiries,  and  look  into  all  the  shanties  and  holes  I 
come  to  in  my  rides." 

"  I  shall  be  so  thankful  if  you  will,  though  I  am  afraid 
she  is  far  enough  away  before  now." 

"  I  wish  she  was  here,"  said  the  doctor ;  "  she'd  take  care 
of  you ! " 

"  I  just  want  to  lie  still  awhile,  and  do  nothing.  That's 
all,  unless  you  could  put  my  brains  to  sleep  for  a  little." 

"  That's  just  what  I  would  do,  if  I  knew  how.  I'd  like 
to  take  them  out  and  see  what  they've  been  doing  with  you, 
if  I  could  get  them  back  again.  Here,  take  this  powder,  and 
have  whoever  takes  care  of  you  put  this — who  is  going  to 
take  care  of  you  ?  "  he  said,  almost  fiercely. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  have  good  care." 

"  Yes,  I'll  see  that  you  do  ; "  and  he  gently  arranged  her 
pillows  to  the  perfection  of  comfort,  and  left  her. 

"  How  do  you  find  Margaret  ?  "  "  What  is  the  matter 
with  Margaret  ?  "  were  questions  asked  in  a  breath  by  Mr. 
Crosby  and  Fanny. 

"  Where  are  those  boys  ?  What  are  they  making  such  a 
racket  for  ?  "  demanded  the  doctor,  going  to  the  kitchen- 


46  MABGABET  : 

door,  which,  when  opened,  disclosed  a  scene  of  direst  con. 
fusion.  It  came  to  pass  in  this  wise :  George  and  Jack  had 
insisted  upon  washing  the  dishes  after  breakfast,  and  Bridget 
had  yielded  willingly  enough,  being  anxious  to  get  the  wash 
ing  done,  and  go  home  to  her  children. 

George  washed  the  dishes  and  Jack  wiped  them,  and  with 
the  excitement  of  their  novel  occupation,  their  spirits  rose. 
So,  after  having  a  grand  frolic  over  the  dish-pan,  splashing 
the  water  over  the  floor  and  themselves,  and  making  a  "  fa'ar- 
ful  muss,"  as  Bridget  said,  they  seized  the  opportunity,  while 
she  was  hanging  up  her  clothes,  to  rush  to  the  wash-tub,  so 
as  to  have  a  larger  field  for  their  operations.  They  were  up 
to  their  elbows  in  soap-suds  when  Bridget  came  back. 

"  Och,  yez  good-for-nothing  little  spalpeens !  "  she  cried  ; 
"  away  wid  yez !  " 

But  the  boys  only  laughed  the  louder,  and  splashed  the 
water  the  more  furiously. 

"  Come,  now,  be  aff  wid  yez ;  I'll  go  sthraight  an'  tell 
yer  grandfayther  av  yez ; "  and  with  that  she  laid  a  hand  on 
each  of  the  boys  to  push  them  away  from  the  tub.  Quick  as 
a  flash,  George  seized  the  dipper  from  the  tub,  and  dashed 
its  contents  full  into  Bridget's  face,  who  screamed  and  splut 
tered  at  the  unexpected  soapy  deluge ;  and  as  soon  as  she 
recovered  her  senses,  she  caught  the  nearest  culprit  by  one 
leg  and  one  arm,  and  was  carrying  him — he  kicking,  and  she 
scolding — towards  the  outside  door,  probably  intending  to 
throw  him  into  the  snow,  while  Jack  was  tugging  at  her 
dress  with  one  hand,  and  belaboring  her  back  with  the  other, 
when  the  doctor  appeared  at  the  door.  Fanny  and  Mr. 
Crosby  followed  to  see  the  cause  of  the  uproar. 

"  Jack,  come  here,  sir  1 "  said  the  doctor,  in  tones  that 
obtained  instant  obedience.  "Mrs.  Bridget,  put  that  boy 
down  ! "  George  was  deposited  on  the  floor,  and  with  great 
shamefacedness  picked  himself  up ;  while  Bridget,  with  a 
rueful  expression  on  her  face,  dropped  a  curtsey,  saying, 
"  Shure,  sir,  I  ax  yer  honor's  parding ;  I  didn't  intind  to 
harm  the  b'y,"  and  returned  humbly  to  her  wash-tub. 


A  STORY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PRAIRIE   HOME.  47 

"  Boys,"  said  the  doctor,  when  he  had  them  in  the  sitting- 
room,  looking  with  great  amusement  at  their  bedraggled 
appearance,  "  I  believe  you  love  your  Aunt  Margaret,  and 
you  know  she  is  very  sick.  Now  I  want  to  see  how  well  you 
can  treat  her.  I  don't  expect  you  to  cut-up  any  more  such 
shines,  or  do  any  thing  to  disturb  or  worry  her.  What  do 
you  think  ?  Is  she  worth  being  careful  of  ?  " 

"  I  guess  she  is ! "  cried  George,  looking  very  much  as  if 
he  would  like  to  fight  any  body  who  said  she  was  not. 

"  Well,  we'll  see  how  it  goes.  Good  morning  all ;  I  may 
see  you  again  this  afternoon." 

And  in  the  afternoon  he  did  come  back,  bringing  with 
him  Miss  Patty  Hopkins  to  nurse  Margaret.  Miss  Patty 
was  the  doctor's  faithful  ally,  and  was  always  ready,  at  a 
half-hour's  notice,  to  go  to  any  of  his  patients  who  were 
not  likely  to  have  good  care  without  her. 

Her  qualifications  as  a  nurse  were  many,  but  the  chief,  in 
Dr.  Somers'  eyes,  was  her  implicit  faith  in  him,  and  her  carry 
ing  out  his  instructions  to  the  letter.  She  was  a  little  woman, 
and  so  light  on  her  feet,  so  noiseless  in  all  her  movements, 
that  Dr.  Somers  declared  she  must  be  stuffed  with  thistle 
down.  Nothing  could  possibly  be  neater  and  daintier  than 
Miss  Patty,  as  she  entered  Margaret's  room,  after  having  re 
ceived  her  directions  from  the  doctor ;  and  she  was  always 
just  so,  from  the  lovely  gray  hair  that  lay  in  soft  waves  on 
her  fair  though  wrinkled  forehead,  down  to  the  noiseless 
shoes  and  white  lamb's-wool  stockings. 

She  lived  alone  Avith  a  sister  older  than  herself,  and  not 
one  half  so  good  and  neat  as  Patty.  Indeed,  she  was  the  one 
thorn  in  Patty's  flesh ;  for,  what  with  her  naturally  queru 
lous  temper  and  her  "  rheumatics,"  she  was  a  very  uncom 
fortable  companion. 

Margaret  did  not  hear  Patty  when  she  entered,  and  she 
stood  with  her  little  withered  hand  laid  over  her  mouth, 
apparently  to  prevent  any  word  escaping  that  should  waken 
her  patient,  looking  tenderly  at  the  pale  face,  Avhen  Margaret 
opened  her  eyes. 


4:8  MAKGAEET. 

"  Oh,  Margaret,  is  that  you  ?  "  Patty  said,  smoothing  the 
clothes. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Patty  ?  Have  you  come  to  take 
care  of  me  ?  How  did  you  know  I  was  sick  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  little  bird  told  me,  my  dear  ;  and  right  glad  I  am 
to  be  here,  though  right  sorry  I  am  to  be  needed,"  and  she 
proceeded  to  mix  Margaret's  powder,  consulting  her  great 
silver  watch  to  see  if  it  was  time,  to  the  very  second. 
Having  administered  it,  she  tidied  up  the  room,  and  did  many 
things  for  Margaret's  comfort,  and  then  sat  down  to  her  knit 
ting,  chirping  occasionally  like  a  cheerful  little  snow-bird, 
as  Margaret  lay  watching  the  flying  needles,  and  feeling  a 
dreamy  satisfaction  in  being  taken  care  of. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Knowing  this :  that  never  yet 
Sbure  of  truth  was  vainly  set 

In  the  world's  wide  fallow ; 
After-hands  shall  sow  the  seed, 
After-hands,  from  hill  and  mead, 

Heap  the  harvest  yellow.  \VHITTIEB. 

FROM  the  time  that  Simon  and  Nancy  Stubbs  sullenly 
yielded  Chloe  to  Margaret,  they  daily  quarrelled  over  it, 
each  charging  the  other  with  the  folly  of  letting  her  go. 
She  had  brought  water,  gathered  sticks  from  the  woods  near 
by — in  fact,  had  done  all  the  work  that  was  ever  done  in  the 
shanty,  besides  being  an  object  on  which  to  vent  their  ill- 
tempers  ;  and  they  soon  decided  to  get  possession  of  her, 
and  make  her  fine  friends  pay  them  well,  if  they  attempted 
to  recover  her.  So  they  bent  their  energies  to  the  carrying 
out  of  this  project,  never  failing  some  time  each  day  to 
watch  the  farmhouse  from  behind  trees  or  fences ;  but  there 
was  always  some  one  astir  about  the  house,  and  Chloe  never 
was  to  be  found  farther  away  than  the  gate-post. 

The  fated  Sunday  came  at  last;  and  having  seen  the 
wagon  go  by,  and  concluding  that  the  family  would  be  away 
for  several  hours,  they  started  for  the  farm.  But  a  change 
had  come  over  the  spirit  of  their  plans.  They  had  given  up 
the  idea  of  taking  Chloe  back  to  the  shanty  and  making  her 
useful  there,  or  of  making  money  through  the  interest  of  her 
friends ;  and  decided  to'Torsake,  quietly  and  forever,  a  neigh 
borhood  which  they  were  beginning  to  find  was  neither 
comfortable  nor  safe,  and  to  take  Chloe  with  them  to  beg 
and  steal  what  they  needed  on  their  journey  to  some  other 
place.  Mrs.  Stubbs  had  grumbled  a  little  at  first,  when  Si 
mon  proposed  the  change,  but  her  objections  to  a  jour 
ney  in  cold  weather  were  overruled  by  the  necessities  of  the 
case.  Wanderings  were  by  no  means  contrary  to  the  tastes 
3 


50  MAKGABET  : 

aud  habits  of  this  worthy  pair.  Several  small  demesnes,  in 
different  parts  of  Kentucky,  had  been  honored  by  their 
presence ;  and  between  their  little  tobacco-patch  in  Virginia, 
where  Chloe  had  been  hired  by  them  from  her  mistress,  and 
their  coming  to  farmer  Brown's  shanty,  they  had  made  two 
or  three  brief  sojourns.  If  Chloe  had  known,  when  they 
suddenly  decamped  with  her  from  the  cabin  on  the  tobacco- 
patch,  that  she  was  no  longer  any  body's  property — that 
even  her  "  Ole  Missus  "  had  no  right  to  sell  or  hire  her  to 
any  body — she  might  have  made  some  use  of  her  liberty ; 
but  she  did  not  know  that  any  such  wonderful  change  had 
come  to  herself  and  her  kindred,  though  she  had  a  vague 
notion  of  Massa  Linkum  as  their  father  and  friend ;  and  so 
she  followed,  obediently  and  unquestioningly,  the  fortunes 
of  Simon  and  Nancy. 

How  they  expected  to  make  an  honest  living  with  only 
the  half-acre  of  land  on  which  the  shanty  stood,  and  with 
no  other  resources,  or  that  they  ever  had  such  expectations, 
never  appeared ;  for  they  attempted  nothing  beyond  raising 
a  few  potatoes.  And  when  their  idle,  shiftless  ways,  and  by 
no  means  starved  appearance,  came  to  be  coupled  in  the 
minds  of  the  neighbors  with  the  disappearance  of  chickens, 
vegetables,  fruits,  and  the  contents  of  corn-cribs,  it  was  not 
to  be  wondered  at  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stubbs  met  dark  looks 
and  cross  words  which  excited  their  alarm.  As  Chloe  was 
used  as  a  cat's-paw  in  the  doing  of  little  mischiefs  in  which 
she  could  be  trusted,  she  shared  the  odium  that  rested  on 
her  master  and  mistress  as  long  as  she  lived  with  them ;  but 
when  it  became  known  that  Miss  Crosby  had  rescued  her 
from  their  cruelty,  the  greatest  sympathy  was  felt  for  the 
child.  So,  all  things  considered,  they  felt  that  another 
move  was  inevitable,  and  their  arrangements  having  been 
completed  for  some  days,  they  were  only  waiting  to  get 
hold  of  Chloe.  They  had  used  their  few  pieces  of  shabby 
furniture  for  firewood,  and  concluded  to  resort  to  extreme 
measures  if  chance  did  not  speedily  aid  them. 

If  they  had  seen  Mr.  Crosby  when  he  saw  them,  Chloe 


A   STOEY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PBAIRIE    HOME.,  51 

might  have  been  saved ;  but  so  sure  were  they  of  there  be 
ing  no  one  in  the  house  save  their  victim,  that  they  were  on 
the  point  of  going  to  the  door,  when  it  opened,  atid  Chloe 
came  out  with  a  leap.  They  crouched  down,  one  on  each 
side  of  the  gate,  and  Chloe  proceeded  to  make  footprints  in  the 
soft  carpet  of  snow,  singing  and  talking  to  herself  the  while. 

She  was  not  allowed  to  sit  on  the  gate-post  and  drum 
with  her  heels  on  Sunday,  so  after  walking  in  the  snow  until 
it  ceased  to  afford  her  any  amusement,  she  jumped  upon  the 
gate  and  swung  it  open.  Instantly  a  horny  hand  was  placed 
over  her  mouth,  another  seized  her  arm,  and  two  dull,  ugly 
eyes  leered  at  her  in  front,  and  she  found  herself  torn  from 
the  gate,  and  dragged  along  the  road  between  those  two 
who  were  to  her  the  impersonation  of  all  that  was  hideous 
and  cruel. 

A  thrill  of  hope  shot  through  her  heart  as  she  heard  Mr. 
Crosby's  call,  and,  glancing  back,  saw  him  standing  in  the 
door.  She  made  one  fierce  effort  to  tear  away  from  her  foes, 
but  it  was  worse  than  useless ;  their  grasp  tightened,  and 
they  ran  the  faster,  and  so  they  kept  on  until  they  were  out 
of  sight  of  the  house,  and  had  gone  some  distance  down  a 
lonely  cross-road.  Then  they  stopped  and  let  go  of  Cbloe, 
who  sank  on  the  ground,  gasping  for  breath,  and  striking 
her  side  to  stop  the  sharp  pain  in  her  heart,  while  her  cap 
tors  stood  by  with  grim  satisfaction  at  the  success  of  their 
scheme,  and  recovered  their  own  spent  breath. 

"  Come,  nigger,  ye've  kep'  that  up  long  enough,"  said 
Simon  gruffly,  when  Chloe's  gasping  had  changed  to  a  moan, 
and  she  sat  rocking  to  and  fro. 

"  I  nebber  'spected  to  see  you  no  more,  nebber,"  she  said, 
shaking  her  head  as  if  she  could  not  be  reconciled  to  the  fact 
that  she  had. 

"Oh,  ye  didn't,  didn't  ye?"  Simon  answered  sneeringly. 
"  Wai,  git  up  an'  come  along.  We've  got  to  git  out  o'  these 
yer  diggins  mighty  quick.  Haul  her  up,  Nance,"  and  he 
swung  a  bundle  over  his  shoulder,  while  Xance  gave  Chloe 
a  push,  saying,  "  Git  up,  can't  ye  ?  " 


52  MAEGAEET : 

Chloe  staggered  to  her  feet  and  looked  around ;  but,  see 
ing  nothing  i'amiliar  far  or  near,  except  her  two  morial  ene 
mies,  she  clasped  her  hands  over  her  head,  and,  opening  her 
mouth  wide,  gave  vent  to  a  wild,  despairing  cry.  She  would 
have  thrown  herself  on  the  ground  again  if  Simon  had  not 
caught  her  by  the  arm  and  shaken  her  roughly. 

"Look  a  here,  nigger,  jest  shet  up  yer  head  now,  or 
I'll  give  ye  somethin'  to  yell  at.  I  give  ye  fair  warnin'  ef 
ye  so  much  as  whimper  or  open  yer  head,  I'll  make  ye 
smart.  Yev'  got  to  be  mighty  peert  on  yer  feet,  too.  D'ye 
hear  ?  " 

So  on  they,  started,  Chloe  with  a  load  of  misery  at  her 
heart  that  was  like  leaden  weights  to  her  feet ;  but  if  she 
lagged  behind  ever  so  little,  she  was  sure  to  feel  a  grip  on 
her  arm,  or  a  blow  on  her  back,  that  reminded  her  of  the 
promise  of  worse  things  to  come. 

On  they  tramped,  for  what  seemed  to  Chloe  a  great  many 
hours,  without  seeing  a  human  being.  She  grew  dizzy  and 
bewildered,  and  Simon  and  Nancy  were  watching  her  uncer 
tain  steps  with  cross  looks,  when  they  came  in  sight  of  a 
little  brown  house.  A  faint  hope  came  into  Chloe's  heart, 
and  Simon  and  Nancy  held  a  short  consultation,  which  re 
sulted  in  Simon's  taking  the  bundle  from  his  shoulder  and 
giving  it  to  his  wife,  and  their  assuming  a  free-and-easy  man 
ner,  as  if  they  had  nothing  special  on  their  minds. 

As  they  drew  near,  they  saw  a  lumber-wagon  standing  in 
the  barnyard,  filled  with  potatoes,  and  a  slovenly-looking  old 
man  just  harnessing  a  couple  of  rough-coated  mules  to  the 
wagon.  The  fact  that  the  man  was  about  such  business  on 
Sunday  may  have  reassured  Simon,  for,  muttering  to  Nancy, 
"  Nothin'  to  be  afeared  on,  I  reckon,"  he  crossed  the  road 
and  leaned  his  arms  on  the  fence. 

"  Hello,  Mister !  wher'  be  you  a-goin'  with  them  ar  'taters  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  that's  any  business  of  yourn." 

"  I've  got  a  very  pertikelar  reason,  stranger,"  Simon  an- 
swered,  with  an  attempt  at  a  conciliatory  manner ;  "  an'  I 
hopes  ye  won't  take  nary  'fence  at  my  axin'  ye." 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  53 

"  Wai,  if  it'll  be  any  'commodation,  I'm  goin'  to  Jones 
ville  with  'era." 

"  Wai,  stranger,  wot  do  ye  say  to  givin'  me  an'  my  ole 
woman  an'  a  nigger  gal  I've  got  yer'  a  lift  ?  " 

"  I  don't  say  nothin'  to't.  Me  an'  my  potaters  is  a  big 
enough  load  fer  my  animals." 

"  Oh,  now,  be  obleegin',  can't  ye  ?  That  poor  little  nig 
ger  gal's  clean  done  used  up,  an'  can't  go  a  step  furder ;  an' 
what's  to  be  done  is  more'n  I  know,  withouten  you  takes 
pity  onto  us." 

"  Wai,  pile  in,  then,  an'  I'll  take  you  on  a  piece  ;  though 
you're  a  pretty  rough-lookin'  customer,"  he  added,  as  Simon 
went  to  bring  Chloe  and  Nancy. 

Chloe  was  so  glad  not  to  have  to  drag  her  tired  self  along, 
that  for  a  little  while  she  forgot  that  the  mules  were  carry 
ing  her  away  from  Margaret  faster  than  her  feet  would  have 
done  ;  and,  if  she  could  only  have  had  some  water  to  mois 
ten  her  parched  mouth,  would  have  been  almost  comfortable, 
as  she  sat  jammed  in  between  Simon  and  Nancy. 

The  slow  jog  of  the  mules  made  the  ride  of  four  miles  a 
pretty  long  one,  and  when  they  came  within  sight  of  the 
church-steeple  and  white  houses  of  Jonesville,  it  was  grow 
ing  dark ;  the  sky  was  overcast,  and  little  flurries  of  fine, 
sleety  snow  gave  promise  of  a  severe  storm.  Simon  had  no 
notion  of  entering  the  village,  so  he  hustled  his  companions 
down,  and,  with  a  graceless  "thankee"  to  the  old  man,  he 
hurried  them  along  a  road  that  lay  outside  the  town,  where 
the  houses  were  few  and  scattered. 

Nancy  had  tied  Chloc's  apron  over  her  head,  and  given 
her  one  of  her  own  ragged  shawls ;  but  the  child's  teeth 
chattered  with  the  cold,  and  her  hands  and  feet  ached,  as 
they  pressed  on  against  the  wind  and  thickening  snow  ;  and 
as  they  passed  one  house  after  another,  where  the  cows  were 
being  milked  and  driven  under  shelter  from  the  storm,  and 
the  men  were  hurrying  to  get  to  the  warmth  of  the  kitchen, 
Chloe  wondered  if  Simon  and  Nancy  must  get  as  cold  and 
hungry  as  she  was,  before  they  would  stop  for  the  night  where 


54  MARGARET  : 

they  could  get  warm,  and  have  supper.  In  all  their  previous 
wanderings,  they  had  never  neglected  creature-comforts  so 
utterly,  and  Chloe  little  dreamed  what  their  dread  of  falling 
in  with  some  one  who  had  seen  or  heard  of  them  before, 
would  lead  them  to  undergo  in  the  way  of  hardships. 

At  last,  when  it  was  so  dark  that  they  could  hardly  keep 
the  road,  they  came  to  a  house  where  all  was  still,  and  one 
light  shone  dimly  out  through  the  storm  and  darkness.  Seiz 
ing  Chloe's  hand,  and  muttering  a  threat  to  her,  and  some 
thing  to  Nancy,  Simon  led  the  way,  not  to  the  house-door,  as 
Chloe  expected,  but  across  the  yard,  through  the  barnyard- 
gate  ;  and  whispering  that  they  were  to  stand  still  till  he 
came  back,  he  went  to  reconnoitre.  He  soon  returned,  and 
took  them  to  a  side-door  that  opened  into  the  part  of  the 
barn  where  the  horses  were,  and,  groping  along  behind  them, 
feeling  their  way  slowly  and  carefully,  they  at  last  reached  a 
place  where  they  could  feel  a  little  hay  under  their  feet,  and 
there  Simon  made  his  companions  sit  down,  informing  them, 
to  Chloe's  utter  dismay,  that  this  was  to  be  their  bed  and 
shelter  for  the  night.  Then,  in  the  darkness,  he  divided  the 
cold  potatoes  and  dry  bread  they  had  brought  in  their  bundle 
between  them,  and  he  and  Nancy  ate  greedily.  But  Chloe 
could  not  eat ;  her  fingers  were  too  cold  and  stiff  to  hold  the 
food,  and  her  teeth  could  do  nothing  but  chatter ;  and  be 
sides,  there  was  what  seemed  a  frozen  lump  in  her  throat, 
that  made  her  feel  as  if  she  should  choke  if  she  attempted  to 
swallow.  So  she  sat  still  while  Nancy  and  Simon  munched 
and  muttered  to  each  other,  and  then  lay  down  on  their  hard 
bed,  until  her  misery  waxed  so  sharp  and  unendurable  that  it 
suddenly  burst  out  in  a  low,  broken  wail,  which  could  hardly 
be  suppressed,  when  heavy  hands  covered  her  mouth  and 
beat  her  head  and  shoulders,  and  whispered  but  fierce 
threats  met  her  almost  unconscious  ears.  They  laid  her 
roughly  down  between  them,  and  Nancy  held  her  there  until 
she  iell  fast  asleep.  Simon  soon  followed  her  example,  and 
by-and-by  kind  Nature  closed  poor  Chloe's  eyes,  and  let  her 
forget  all  her  woes — even  the  biting  of  the  cold — until  the 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE   HOME.  55 

first  faint  warning  of  coming  dawn  awakened  her  captors, 
and  they  hurried  her  up  and  away,  almost  before  her  eyes 
were  open. 

The  snow  was  quite  deep,  so  that  their  progress  was  slow 
and  tedious ;  but  before  it  was  fairly  daylight,  they  had  left 
the  village  some  distance  behind  them,  and  were  very  hun 
gry  ;  for,  relying  upon  Chloe's  beggings  and  stealings,  they 
had  only  provided  for  one  meal.  But  after  she  had  been  to 
the  door  of  every  house  they  passed  for  two  miles,  all  she 
had  collected  was  barely  enough  to  appease  their  hunger  for 
a  time,  and  their  privations  did  not  tend  to  make  them  any 
more  amiable.  Cross  words  and  grumblings,  and  blows  and 
pushes  for  Chloe,  were  the  order  of  the  day,  as  they  tramped 
on  through  the  untrodden  snow,  only  once  or  twice  getting 
a  lift  of  a  mile  or  so,  on  an  ox-sled. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  they  came  to  a  shabby  little  public 
house,  where  farmers  stopped  to  water  their  horses  and  get 
refreshment  for  themselves,  on  their  way  to  and  from  mar 
kets  ;  and,  made  desperate  by  their  hardships,  and  nearly 
overcome  by  their  long  tramp  and  want  of  food,  Simon  and 
Nancy  decided  on  a  bold  measure.  They  walked  into  the 
public  room,  where  there  was  a  red-hot  stove,  and  all  three 
were  speedily  before  it,  eagerly  warming  their  half-frozen 
hands  and  feet,  never  heeding  the  scowling  looks  of  the  burly 
landlord  and  two  or  three  men  who  were  lounging  about  the 
room.  As  soon  as  Simon  began  to  feel  a  little  thawed  out, 
he  went  up  to  the  landlord  and  demanded  a  supper  of  ham 
and  eggs,  and  lodging  for  the  night. 

"  In  course  you  can  hev  a  supper  an'  lodgin',"  answered 
the  landlord,  eyeing  Simon's  vagabond  aspect.  "  Pay  fer  it, 
an'  you're  welcome  to  all  ther'  be  in  the  house." 

"  I'll  pay  fer  it  when  I've  hed  it,"  answered  Simon,  dog 
gedly. 

"  No,  you  don't,"  said  the  landlord,  seating  himself,  as  if 
the  matter  were  ended.  "  I've  hed  sich  customers  afore  now. 
Show  me  yer  money,  an'  I'll  git  yer  supper,  an'  not  afore !  " 

The  end  of  the  matter  was,  that  Simon,  having  no  money, 


56  MAEGAEET  I 

and  giving  mine  host  more  "  impidence  than  he  could  stand," 
was  turned  out  into  the  cold  with  Nancy  and  Chloe,  to  find 
a  supper  and  bed  as  best  they  might.  . 

At  a  house  near  by,  where  Chloe  was  sent  with  bitter 
warnings  from  the  desperate  pair  not  to  come  back  without 
something,  she  got  a  few  scraps  of  cold  meat  and  bread,  of 
which  a  very  small  share  was  vouchsafed  her,  and  again  then1 
cold,  comfortless  bed  was  a  barn-floor,  and  again  their  jour 
ney  began  with  the  first  gleam  of  gray  dawn. 

No  doubt  many  kindly  eyes  had  looked  on  poor  Chloe 
tnat  day,  and  many  benevolent  hearts  would  have  been 
moved  to  keenest  sympathy,  and  to  do  their  utmost  for  the 
forlorn  child,  if  they  had  bat  known  her  sad  story.  But 
with  two  such  birds  of  prey  ready  to  pounce  upon  her  if  she 
loitered  in  her  quest  for  the  food  they  craved  so  fiercely,  or 
did  any  thing  to  excite  their  suspicions,  how  could  she  ven 
ture  to  make  known  her  griefs  ?  And  so,  on  the  third  day 
of  their  wanderings,  no  relief  came,  except  that  at  one  house 
they  were  allowed  to  warm  themselves  at  the  kitchen-fire, 
and  received  a  larger  supply  of  food  than  usual ;  and  then  a 
kind-hearted  farmer  took  them  in  his  sleigh,  until  he  turned 
into  a  road  leading  away  from  the  town  to  which  Simon  was 
bending  his  steps. 

But  Simon  had  conceived  a  happy  plan  for  spending  that 
night  in  comparative  comfort.  After  leaving  the  farmer's 
sleigh,  and  watching  him  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  he  led  the 
way  back  for  a  little  distance  along  the  road  they  had  just 
come,  until  they  reached  a  small  school-house,  from  which  he 
had  seen  the  scholars  and  the  teacher  depart,  and  caught  the 
last  curl  of  blue  smoke  from  the  chimney,  as  the  door  was 
locked  and  the  wooden  shutters  closed. 

Looking  cautiously  around,  and  making  sure  that  no 
pei'son  and  no  house  was  in  sight,  he  opened  one  of  the 
shutters,  pushed  up  the  window,  got  in,  and  pulled  Naiicy 
and  Chloe  in  after  him,  closed  the  shutter  and  the  window, 
rekindled  the  dying  fire,  and,  seating  himself  before  it, 
rubbed  his  hands  and  laughed,  as  nearly  as  Simon  Stubbs 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIKIE    HOME.  57 

could  langh,  over  the  sharpness  of  his  wits.  Nancy  chuckled 
too,  as  she  crouched  by  the  stove,  but  poor  Chloe  was  past 
being  made  happy  by  warmth  and  plenty  to  eat.  She  looked 
around  the  little,  dimly-lighted  room,  and  at  the  uncouth 
figures  by  the  stove,  made  to  look  more  hideous  than  ever 
by  the  flickering  firelight,  feeling  much  as  if  she  were  caged 
with  wild  beasts  that  might  at  any  moment  tear  her  to 
pieces.  They  paid  no  attention  to  her,  but  basked  in  the 
heat  of  the  roaring  fire,  and  talked  with  unwonted  animation 
and  amiability  over  their  plans  and  prospects  ;  and  by-and-by, 
having  finished  their  cold  supper,  they  grew  drowsy,  and  at 
length  fell  asleep. 

Chloe,  notwithstanding  her  exhaustion,  sat  with  eyes 
wide  open,  going  over  and  over,  as  if  in  a  perplexed  dream, 
the  events  of  the  past  three  days,  which  were  to  her  like  three 
long  months,  until,  in  the  absence  of  the  positive  pain  of  cold 
and  hunger,  her  benumbed  senses  gradually  brightened,  and 
clear,  unclouded  thoughts  of  Margaret  and  her  happy  life  at 
the  farmhouse  came  into  her  mind.  Contrasting  with  the 
wretched  nights  she  had  passed  since  she  was  torn  away 
from  that  pleasant  place,  came  the  remembrance  of  the 
warm  little  bed  where  she  had  slept  so  sweetly,  and  a 
picture  of  herself,  kneeling  by  Margaret's  side  to  say  her 
prayers,  made  her  start  and  almost  exclaim  aloud.  And 
then,  without  stopping  to  think  whether  she  should  waken 
the  sleepers  by  moving,  she  dropped  on  her  knees,  and, 
pulling  her  dress  over  her  head,  began  to  pray — not  the 
prayer  Margaret  had  taught  her — she  could  not  remember 
that  in  her  eagerness — but  this :  "  Dear  Massa  Jesus,  I  done 
forgot  to  say  my  pra'rs  all  dis  time  ;  please  to  forgimme,  an' 
do  git  me  away  from  ole  Simon  and  Nance  quick's  you  can, 
an'  do  fotch  me  back  ag'in  to  Miss  Marg'et,  an'  I  won't  neb- 
ber  steal  nor  lie  no  more,  an'  dat's  de  trufe.  Amen." 

As  she  got  up  from  her  knees  she  hit  a  stick  of  wood, 

and  glanced  at  Simon  and  Nancy,  to  see  if  it  waked  them  ; 

but  they  did  not  stir ;  and  then  a  streak  of  silvery  light 

caught  her  eye,  coming  through  a  chink  in  the  shutter,  and, 

3* 


58  MARGARET. 

with  a  feeling  of  security  that  she  did  not  stop  to  account 
for,  she  went  to  the  window  and  opened  the  shutter,  to  se« 
if  it  were  daylight.  The  moon  shone  full  in  her  face,  at  first 
almost  blinding  her  with  its  radiance,  and  somehow  it  seemed 
dimly  connected,  in  her  simple  mind,  with  Jesus,  and  her 
prayer,  and  Margaret.  She  opened  the  window  and  leaned 
out.  The  shining  snow  looked  almost  on  a  level  with  the 
sill,  and  before  the  idea  of  escape  was  formed  in  her  mind, 
she  was  running  from  the  school-house  as  if  wings  had  been 
lent  her. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Now  am  I  fairly  safe  to-night — 

And  with  proud  cause  my  heart  is  light ; 

I  trespassed  lately  worse  than  ever — 

But  Heaven  has  blessed  a  good  endeavor.  WOHDSWOBTH 

ABOUT  a  mile  from  the  school-house  where  Simon  and 
Nancy  Stubbs  had  taken  lodgings  for  the  night,  lived  farmer 
Truffles,  and  on  the  morning  after  Chloe's  escape,  his  house 
hold  was  in  an  unusual  state  of  excitement  and  bustle,  owing 
to  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Truffle's  aunt  Keziah  was  coming  to 
spend  the  day.  It  was  not  so  much  that  Mrs.  Keziah  Kin- 
ney's  periodical  visits  were  a  pleasure  and  a  present  profit, 
but  Mrs.  Truffles  had  a  numerous  family  of  boys  and  girls, 
and  her  aunt  had  a  large  and  valuable  farm,  with  no  children 
to  leave  it  to  ;  and  though  she  seemed  likely  to  outlive  many 
of  her  nieces  and  nephews,  the  Truffles,  and  the  heads  of  two 
or  three  other  branches  of  the  family,  vied  with  each  other 
in  their  devoted  attentions,  and  for  days  before  her  visits,  as 
much  cleaning  and  cooking  was  done  as  if  for  a  family-gath 
ering  at  Thanksgiving  or  Christmas. 

On  this  particular  morning  the  eldest  son,  a  good-natured 
boy  of  fifteen,  who  gave  no  promise  of  ever  knowing  what 
to  do  with  a  farm  if  he  had  it,  was  appointed  to  go  in  the 
double  sleigh  to  bring  the  visitor,  and  many  were  his  moth 
er's  tribulations  in  getting  him  arrayed  in  his  best  clothes 
and  fairly  started.  But  at  length,  having  run  several  times 
from  the  kitchen  to  the  stairs  to  know  if  he  was  not  ready 
yet  to  tackle  up,  having  had  a  hunt  for  his  new  cap,  which 
was  found  behind  the  flour-barrel  in  the  pantry,  and  having 
given  explicit  and  repeated  directions  as  to  his  behavior  to 
his  great-aunt,  she  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  him  drive 
out  of  the  barnyard. 

"  Benjamin  !  Benjamin !  "  she  screamed,  "  stop,  for  pity's 
sake.  You  hain't  got  the  buffalo-skins." 


60  MAEGAKET ! 

"  Yes,  I  have,  too,"  answered  Benjamin ;  "  they're  in  be 
hind  there." 

"  Well,  spread  'em  out  over  the  seat.  How  it  looks  to 
see  'em  all  in  a  heap  on  the  bottom." 

"  Oh  bother,  ma,  I'll  spread  'em  out  when  I  git  there," 
answered  Benjamin. 

"  Oh  dear  suz  me !  I  never  did  !  I  don't  believe  he'll 
think  of  it  again,"  said  Mrs.  Truffles,  as  she  betook  her  anx 
ious,  scorched  face  back  to  the  oven;  while  Benjamin  drove 
leisurely  on  to  his  aunt's  house,  a  little  distance  from  the  vil 
lage  of  Moresville. 

No  sooner  did  he  stop  at  the  gate  than  Mrs.  Kinney  ap 
peared  at  the  front  door,  so  muffled  in  shawls,  cloaks,  hoods, 
and  moccasins,  that  it  was  a  wonder  she  could  move  as  ener 
getically  as  she  did.  Her  sharp  eyes,  sharp  nose,  and  sharp 
chin,  were  the  only  possible  points  for  Jack  Frost  to  assail, 
and  he  would  not  have  a  chance  at  those  as  soon  as  she 
could  hold  before  them  her  huge  yellow  muff,  which  hung 
by  a  string  around  her  neck.  At  present  her  hands  were 
occupied  in  locking  the  door  and  putting  the  key  in  her 
pocket — she  always  did  that,  though  she  left  a  trusty  woman 
in  the  kitchen — and  in  piloting  her  way  down  the  steps  and 
out  to  the  gate. 

"You  needn't  tie  that  hoss,  Benjamin,"  she  cried  in  sharp 
tones ;  "  I  don't  wish  to  wait  no  longer  with  all  my  things 
on.  Twenty-five  minutes  by  the  clock  is  plenty  long  enough 
to  sit  a-waitin'  for  a  lazybones  of  a  boy  like  you.  Ef  ever  I 
g;o  to  see  your  mother  ag'in  (which  ain't  at  all  likely,  an'  I'll 
(ell  her  so  soon's  ever  I  get  there),  I'll  go  in  my  own  shay, 
an'  not  run  the  resk  of  bein'  baked,  as  I  have  been  this  day, 
and  then  catchin'  my  death  of  cold  an'  rheumatiz,  as  I'm  sar- 
tain  sure  I  shall.  See  ef  I  don't." 

Benjamin  had  no  idea  what  he  was  to  be  witness  to,  for 
all  this  time  he  had  stood  by  the  hitching-post,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  looking  ruefully  towards  the  kitchen, 
where  he  had  fully  expected  to  warm  himself,  and  get  a  sly 
cake  from  the  kind-hearted  Betty.  He  came  mournfully  to 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  61 

wards  the  sleigh  as  Mrs.  Kinney  shut  the  gate  with  a  loud 
clang. 

"  A  pretty  way  to  send  for  a  visitor,  I  should  say,"  and 
she  looked  wrathfully  at  the  bare  wooden  seat,  and  seized 
hold  of  the  buffalo-robe. 

If  there  had  been  any  neighbors  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile,  they  would  surely  have  been  brought  to  the  spot  by 
the  shriek  that  burst  from  Mrs.  Kinney's  lips.  As  it  was, 
there  was  no  one  but  the  amazed  Benjamin  to  hear  it,  or  to 
see  the  old  lady  stagger  back  against  the  fence,  and  gaze 
with  horror  at  the  object  that  her  seizure  of  the  robes  had 
disclosed — a  black  face,  a  pair  of  sleepy  eyes,  and  tufts  of 
wool  surmounting  these,  that  stuck  out  in  every  direction. 
For  a  minute  the  head  did  not  move ;  then  it  was  thrust  a 
little  further  out  of  the  robes,  and  examined  the  situation 
with  its  bewildered  eyes,  that  were  getting  a  more  wide 
awake  expression.  Then  the  head  settled  back,  and  the  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  horrified  face  of  Mrs.  Kinney. 

"  Benjamin  Truffles,"  gasped  Mrs.  Kinney  at  last,  "  what's 
that  ?  "  and  gathering  courage  from  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice,  she  continued  her  inquiries  more  at  length. 

"Benjamin,  what  is  that  thing?  Sakes  alive,  what  does 
it  look  like  ?  " 

"  Seems  to  me  it  looks  like  a — like  a  nigger ;  don't  it  ?  " 
answered  Benjamin,  more  surprised  than  he  had  ever  been 
before  in  all  his  life ;  and  he  ventured  a  little  nearer,  where 
he  could  have  a  better  view  of  the  object  in  question. 

"  A  nigger !  how  should  sich  a  thing  get  into  that 
sleigh  ?  "  asked  his  aunt. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  answered  Benjamin,  with  a 
blank  look  which  convinced  his  aunt  that  he  was  as  much  in 
the  dark  as  herself. 

"  Well,  I  should  think  you'd  better  know,"  si..  -..\1 
sharply,  now  fully  recovered  from  her  fright.  She  was  too 
matter-of-fact  a  woman  to  be  long  overpowered  by  any 
thing,  however  suspiciously  unhuman  it  might  appear,  and 
this  woolly-head,  she  soon  decided,  was  altogether  human. 


62  MARGARET : 

So  she  reached  out  her  mittened  hand,  and  gave  the  robe 
a  jerk  which  disclosed  an  apron,  that  had  evidently  been  tied 
over  the  woolly  head,  and  a  ragged,  faded  shawl,  covering 
some  small  shoulders.  The  figure  wearing  these  tokens 
of  humanity  was  nearly  upset  by  the  sudden  demonstration 
of  hostilities. 

"My  goodness   sakes!    what   are   you   a-doin'  here,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"Idunno." 

"  Well,  who  should  know,  if  you  don't  ?  What  did  you 
go  ah'  get  into  this  sleigh  for?  Don't  you  know  you 
shouldn't  get  into  other  folkses  sleighs?  Why  don't  you 
epeak  ?  What  did  you  do  it  for  ?  " 

"Dunno." 

"  Sakes  alive  !  if  this  ain't  too  much  !  Where  be  you  a- 
goin'  ?  " 

"Dunno." 

"  Well,  I  never  did  !  What  ails  the  cretur  ?  Where  do 
you  live?  or  don't  you  live  nowhers?  Mebbe  you  don't 
know  that  ?  " 

"  I  live  long  o'  Miss  Marg'et." 

"Miss  Margot,  eh!  well,  why  didn't  you  say  so  afore? 
Where  does  Miss  Margot  live  ?  " 

"  Dunno ;  I  wish  I  did,"  was  the  sorrowful  answer. 

"Oh,  you've  lost  your  way?  or  mebbe  you've  run 
off?" 

"  No,  I  ain't,  I  was  fotched." 

"  Well,  well,  this  beats  me !  but  I  can't  bother  with  you 
no  more.  I  'spose  Miss  Margot  lives  up  to  the  village — 
though,  thank  tbrtin',  I  never  heerd  tell  of  such  a  pusson — an' 
if  you  keep  on  this  road  you'll  come  to  it,  I  guess.  But 
don't  you  go  pokin'  yourself  into  no  more  sleighs  and  things, 
or  you'll  get  took  up  an'  put  in  jail.  Come,  get  out,  an'  let 
me  get  in." 

"Does  you  know  whar  Miss  Marg'et  lives?"  was  asked 
eagerly,  as  the  whole  of  Chloe  emerged  from  the  buffalo- 
skins. 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN    A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  63 

"  No,  I  don't ;  how  should  I  ?  "  Didn't  I  say  I'd  never 
heerd  on  her  ?  Hurry,  why  don't  you  ?  There  !  I  ain't  a 
goiu'  home  with  you,  Benjamin.  Tell  your  mother  that  I'm 
down  sick  with  this  day's  worriments,  an'  I'm  goin'  straight 
to  bed.  All  this  comes  of  bein'  in  affable  circumstances,  an' 
havin'  poor  relations  pesterin'  of  you  with  their  false  inten 
tions." 

At  this  point  she  discovered  Chloe  still  lingering,  digging 
her  toes  into  the  snow,  and  looking  as  if  she  wanted  some 
thing. 

"  What  on  airth  do  you  stand  there  starin'  at  me  for  ? 
I  dare  say  Miss  Margot  wants  you,  an'  there's  the  road.  Go 
home,  Benjamin  ; "  and  Mrs.  Kinney  went  into  the  house. 
Benjamin  gave  Chloe  a  farewell  stare  and  went  away,  and 
Chloe's  wanderings  began  again. 

As  she  trudged  sorrowfully  on  through  the  snow,  the 
events  of  the  past  night  became  clear  to  her.  She  remem 
bered  the  flight  from  the  school-house,  her  getting  so  tired 
with  running,  and  creeping  into  the  sleigh  in  the  first  barn 
she  came  to,  and  wrapping  herself  up  in  the  warm  skins  ; 
and  the  next  thing  she  was  consciolm-Qf,  was  hearing  such  a 
dreadful  noise,  and  seeing  the  old  lady  and  the  boy  standing 
by  her  in  that  strange  place.  She  knew  she  must  have  slept 
while  the  sleigh  was  getting  there.  The  momentary  hope 
that  Miss  Marg'et  was  not  far  away,  and  that  she  might  see 
her  soon,  awakened  by  Mrs.  Kinney's  seeming  to  know  her 
name,  gave  place  to  bitter  disappointment  as  she  recalled 
the  long  journey  she  had  taken  with  Simon  and  Nancy,  and 
she  felt  more  lonely  and  helpless  than  ever  before ;  but  she 
kept  on  towards  the  village,  looking  wistfully  at  the  houses 
she  passed,  for  she  was  very  hungry ;  though  she  could  not 
bring  herself,  unmoved  by  commands  and  threats,  to  go  to 
the  doors  and  ask  for  something  to  eat. 

By-and-by  she  came  to  a  large  open  field,  just  at  the  edge 
of  the  town,  where  five  or  six  boys  were  hard  at  work  build 
ing  a  snow-house,  and  she  stood  to  watch  them,  wondering 
how  any  body  could  stay  out  in  the  cold,  if  they  had  a  warm 


64  MAKGABET  ' 

place  to  go  to,  and  she  thought  those  boys  looked  as  if  they 
had. 

"  Hello !  here's  fun,"  cried  the  largest  of  the  group,  as 
he  espied  Chloe.  "  Come  on,  boys,"  and  he  started  across 
the  field,  followed  by  all  the  others. 

"  Hold  on,"  cried  another,  Henry  Newton,  the  black 
smith's  son ;  "  what  are  you  going  to  do,  Jim  ?  " 

"Put  her  in  the  fortress  and  storm  it,"  cried  Jim. 

"  Hurrah !  that's  fun,  sure  enough,"  cried  a  third,  as  they 
all  ran  on  towards  Chloe,  who  saw  them  coming,  but  never 
dreamed  they  were  coming  for  her. 

"  For  shame,  boys,"  exclaimed  Henry,  as  the  others 
caught  poor  Chloe  and  started  back  with  her.  "  How  can 
you  be  so  cruel  ?  " 

"  We  ain't  going  to  hurt  her,"  answered  Jim.  "  She's 
going  to  go  inside  and  be  Dixie,  and  we'll  be  the  North  and 
besiege  her,  but  we  shan't  hurt  her." 

"  See  how  frightened  she  is,"  said  Henry.  "  It's  a  mean 
shame,  boys,  and  I  won't  play  unless  you  let  her  go." 

"  Well,  don't  then ;  before  I'd  be  so  chicken-hearted," 
said  Jim,  making  Chloe  enter  the  fortress. 

"  Look  here,  boys,  I'll  tell  you  what ;  I'll  go  inside  with 
Dixie  and  fight  for  her ;  only  let  me  make  some  ammuni 
tion,"  and  he  began  making  balls  and  handing  them  in  to 
Chloe,  whom  a  few  words  made  to  understand  that  she  had 
a  champion  in  the  bright-faced  boy. 

"  Ho  !  turned  traitor,  has  he  ?  We'll  give  it  to  any 
body  that  dares  to  fight  the  North  ! " 

"  I  ain't  a  traitor,  but  I  won't  see  a  poor  little  black  girl 
abused,  even  if  you  do  call  her  Dixie." 

So  when  he  had  ammunition  enough,  he  went  into  the  for 
tress,  and  telling  Chloe  she  need  not  be  afraid,  only  to  hand 
him  the  snowballs,  the  fight  began  and  was  kept  up  for  some 
time,  the  assailants  shouting,  "  Down  with  the  traitor !  down 
with  the  Northerner  gone  over  to  Dixie ! "  And  the  fortress 
was  beginning  to  be  considerably  battered,  and  Henry's 
ammunition  was  running  low,  when  all  of  a  sudden  the 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  65 

shouts  outside  ceased,  and  the  besieged  heard  the  tramping" 
of  receding  feet.  Looking  out  through  one  of  the  loop-holes, 
Henry  saw  the  besieging  army  scampering  across  the  field 
as  fast  as  they  could  go ;  and  the  mystery  of  such  a  cowardly 
proceeding  was  explained,  when  he  saw  the  schoolmaster 
going  by,  and  looking  inquiringly  at  the  snow-fortress,  and 
then  at  the  departing  boys. 

Henry  started  back,  and  pulled  Chloe  away  from  the 
opening. 

"  No  wonder  they  ran,"  said  he,  in  a  whisper ;  "  if  Mr. 
Colton  had  caught  them  at  such  a  mean  trick,  I  guess  they'd 
have  got  something  they  wouldn't  like." 

Pretty  soon  Henry  looked  out  again,  and  saw  that  the 
coast  was  clear ;  so  he  and  Chloe  left  their  tower. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  lib  nowhar  jes  now,"  she  answered. 

"That's  funny.  Where  do  you  live  when  you  do  live 
anywhere  ?  "  • 

"  With  Miss  Marg'et,"  she  replied. 

"  Who's  Miss  Marg'et  ?    Does  she  live  near  here  ?  " 

"  Laus,  no  !  she  libs  a  great  ways  off  from  dis  yer  place. 
I  wish  I  know'd  how  to  git  thar." 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  stay  till  you  go  back  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  dunno,  Massa ;  s'pects  Massa  Jesus  knows ;  but  I 
don't." 

Henry  looked  at  her  in  amazement,  and  then  said,  "  I 
guess  you're  cold  and  hungry,  ain't  you  ?  and  the  boys  will 
be  coming  back;  so  you  just  come  over  to  father's  shop  and 
warm  yoursolf,  while  I  run  home  and  get  you  something  to 
eat.  If  mother  wasn't  so  sick,  I'd  take  you  home  too  ;  but 
you  see  I  can't,  as  it  is." 

So  the  kind-hearted  boy  took  her  to  the  shop,  where  a 
fire  blazed  on  the  forge,  and  Chloe  warmed  herself  and 
watched  the  sparks  that  flew  from  the  red-hot  iron,  as  it  was 
pounded  by  the  blacksmith's  strong  arm,  while  Henry  ran 
home  to  get  the  food  he  had  promised.  He  soon  came  back, 
bringing  some  nice  slices  of  bread  and  butter  and  cold  corned 


66  MAEGABET : 

beef,  and  a  piece  of  gingerbread,  and  watched  Chloe  awhile 
with  great  satisfaction,  as  she  ate  as  one  might  who  had 
fasted  so  long  in  the  cold. 

"  Father,"  he  said,  "  I'm  going  to  school  now ;  but  you'll 
let  this  poor  thing  stay  here  till  she  gets  ready  to  go,  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  he  answered,  glancing  from  his  work 
at  Chloe.  "  Where  does  she  belong  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Henry,  "  and  she  don't  seem  to, 
either ;  but  I  guess  she'll  find  out  when  she  gets  warm,  and 
has  eaten  her  bread  and  butter.  She  must  stay  here,  any 
way,  till  school  begins,"  he  added — thinking,  but  not  saying, 
that  he  would  not  trust  the  boys,  if  they  got  hold  of  her  again. 

Chloe  ran  to  the  door  to  take  another  look  at  her  brave, 
kind  friend,  and  as  he  glanced  back  before  he  disappeared 
around  the  corner,  she  smiled,  and  nodded  her  head,  and  then 
went  back  into  the  shop.  The  blacksmith  fixed  a  comfortable 
place  for  her  near  the  fire,  where  she  remained  till  a  broad 
hand  was  laid  on  her  arm,  and  a  kind  voice  said,  "  Come, 
wake  up ;  it's  getting  towards  night  now,  and,  if  you're 
going  home,  it's  time  you  started." 

So  Chloe  got  up  and  left  the  homely  but  kindly  shelter, 
and  wandered  on  through  the  village-street,  and  before  very 
long  darkness  came  down,  and  lights  appeared  in  the  win 
dows.  She  had  not  had  time  to  think  much  of  Simon  and 
Nancy  that  day,  but  now  that  night  had  come,  she  could  think 
of  nothing  else,  and  strained  her  eyes  to  look  into  every  dark 
corner  and  down  every  street,  expecting  to  see  them  spring 
up  before  her ;  and  at  every  step  that  sounded  behind  her, 
she  started  and  shivered  with  fear,  lest  she  should  feel  that 
horny  grip  upon  her  shoulder.  Where  she  was  to  sleep  that 
night  she  did  not  know.  She  would  not  have  dared  to  go 
into  any  barn,  for  fear  of  lying  down  beside  Simon  and 
Nancy ;  and  Mrs.  Kinney's  severity  made  her  afraid  to  ask 
for  any  thing  at  any  of  the  houses  she  passed.  So  she  crept 
on  in  loneliness  and  terror  till  she  had  left  the  village,  and 
the  houses  were  few,  and  the  road  was  quite  deserted. 


A  STORY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PBAIKIE   HOME.  67 

By-and-by  she  came  to  a  large  house  that  looked  very 
cheerful,  with  the  light  streaming  from  several  windows. 
Chloe  stood  still  to  look  at  it,  thinking  that  if  she  could  only 
be  near  such  a  pleasant-looking  place  she  should  feel  better. 
So  she  opened  the  gate  softly,  and  walked  along  the  path 
that  led  to  a  little  wing  on  the  left.  As  she  stood  on  the 
ground,  she  could  see  that  the  room  was  empty ;  and  oh,  how 
inviting  it  did  look,  with  that  blazing  fire  in  the  wide  fire 
place,  the  shining  andirons,  and  the  bright  rug  before  it ! 
She  thought  she  should  like  a  nearer  view,  and  crept  up  the 
steps,  and  close  up  to  the  window.  By  the  fire  stood  a  little 
table,  with  the  cosiest  supper  for  one  person  upon  it,  and  an 
old-fashioned  rocking-chair  stood  by,  with  a  footstool  before 
it.  How  warm  and  bright  it  all  looked,  and  how  cold  Cbloe 
was.  She  put  her  hand  on  the  knob,  and  it  turned,  and  the 
door  was  open  and  shut  again  before  Chloe  knew  what  she 
was  about.  It  seemed  to  her  that  it  all  did  itself.  The  next 
thing,  she  was  sitting  on  the  rug,  close  by  the  fire,  perfectly 
oblivious  of  every  thing,  except  the  delight  of  feeling  such 
warmth,  and  being  out  of  the  possible  reach  of  Simon  and 
Nancy  for  a  while.  And  there  she  was,  when,  in  three  or 
four  minutes,  the  door  opened.  Chloe  started  to  her  feet 
and  stood  in  speechless  dismay  before  a  woman  in  a  gayly- 
flowered  gown,  a  cap  with  full  frills  and  a  bunch  of  green 
bows  on  the  top,  a  large  white  linen  apron,  and  a  little  basket 
of  keys  in  her  hand.  She,  too,  was  speechless  for  a  moment, 
and  what  dreadful  punishment  awaited  her  for  her  unheard-of 
audacity,  Chloe  did  not  know. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare !  what  in  the  name  of  h'all  that's 
pitiful ! " 

The  tone  loosened  Chloe's  tongue. 

"  Oh,  Missus,  I  ain't  been  an'  took  nuffin'.  I  ain't  tetched 
nuffin'  'tall,  but  I'se  so  cold  an'  so  'feared  of  Simon  an' 
Nance.  Ef  you'd  jes'  lemme  lie  out  dar  in  de  shine  o'  de 
fire  an'  candles !  Oh,  please,  Missu^,  don't  make  me  walk  in 
de  snow  an'  dark  no  more  to-night !  "  and  the  dread  of  such  a 
fate  so  overcame  her  that  she  burst  into  the  most  bitter  crying. 


68  MAKGARET : 

"  "Why,  bless  the  child !  what  'as  'appened  to  'er  ?  There, 
don't  cry  so.  Who  are  the  folks  you  are  so  afraid  of? 
Where  is  your  'ome,  and  'ow  came  you  'ere  ?  But  never 
mind  all  that  now.  I  won't  bother  you  with  any  moi*e 
questionings.  It's  plenty  to  know  that  you  are  un'appy ;  and 
un'appy  people  are  never  sent  away  from  this  'ouse  without 
comfort.  So  now,  poor  thing,  stop  crying,  and  sit  down 
there  on  the  rug  again,  while  I  drink  my  tea.  Then  I'll  bring 
Mrs.  More — that's  the  lady  of  the  'ouse — in  to  see  you,  and 
you'll  'ave  a  nice  supper  and  a  warm  bed,  and  in  the  morning 
we'll  'ear  your  story,  which  I  dare  to  say  is  pitiful  enough." 

Chloe's  astonishment  dried  her  tears,  and  she  sat  toasting 
by  the  fire,  watching  her  new  friend  as  she  sipped  her  tea, 
and  now  and  then  stopped  her  cup  on  its  way  to  her  lips,  to 
look  at  Chloe,  and  ejaculate,  "Well,  well!"  "I  never!" 
"  Did  you  ever  !  "  or  some  such  expression  of  her  inability 
to  solve  the  mystery  before  her. 

When  the  little  black  teapot  was  empty,  and  the  bread 
and  cakes  were  disposed  of,  Mrs.  Jenkins,  who  was  Mrs. 
More's  housekeeper,  picked  two  or  three  crumbs  from  her  lap 
and  put  them  on  the  plate,  smoothed  down  her  apron,  adjust 
ed  her  cap,  and  rising,  said  to  Chloe,  "  Now  I  am  going  for 
Mrs.  More,  and  you  stay  just  as  you  are  till  I  come  back." 

In  a  few  minutes  the  door  reopened,  and  Mrs.  Jenkins 
ushered  in  Mrs.  More,  shutting  the  door  softly  behind  her,  as  if 
there  was  somebody  asleep  in  the  room  that  she  would  not 
waken  for  any  thing.  Chloe  stood  up  with. her  hands  behind 
her,  and  she  thought  she  had  never  seen  any  thing  so  beautiful 
in  all  her  life,  except  Miss  Marg'et ;  and  her  taste  was  not  at 
fault.  Mrs.  More  was  an  old  lady  in  a  widow's  dress,  with 
soft,  silvery-white  curls,  a  face  full  of  sweetness  and  benevo 
lence,  and  a  certain  gentle  dignity  of  manner. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  Jenkins  said,  in  a  reas 
suring  tone ;  though  Mrs.  More  did  not  seem  in  the  least  dis 
composed  as  she  looked  at  Chloe. 

"  Pray  be  seated,  ma'am ; "  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  shook  up  the 
cushions  of  the  rocking-chair,  in  which  Mrs.  More  seated  her- 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   FEAIRIE   HOME.  69 

self,  and  folding  her  hands  quietly  in  her  lap,  listened  while 
Honora  described  in  her  brisk,  emphatic  way,  her  finding 
Chloe  in  the  room  when  she  came  in  to  her  tea,  and  her  dis 
tress  and  fear  of  being  sent  away.  "  I  kept  'er,  knowing  that 
you  would  be  very  much  offended  if  I  didn't.  Now,  ma'am, 
what  shall  I  do  with  the  poor  creature  ?  " 

"  Take  her  to  the  kitchen,  Honora ;  give  her  plenty  to  eat, 
and  then  put  her  to  bed.  Has  she  told  you  how  she  came  to 
be  wandering  about  so  late  at  night  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  didn't  like  to  question  'er  much,  when  she 
was  so  cold  and  hungry." 

"  That  was  kind.  I  dare  say  she  will  tell  her  story  readi 
ly  enough  in  the  morning.  You  need  not  be  afraid,  little 
girl ;  if  you  have  no  other  home,  we  will  give  you  one  here. 
Mrs.  Jenkins  will  find  something  for  you  to  do  to  keep  you 
happy,  and  you  shall  stay  as  long  as  you  need  our  care." 

Mrs.  Jenkins  looked  at  Chloe  triumphantly,  nodding  her 
head,  as  if  to  say,  "  I  told  you  so,"  and  Chloe  gazed  at  Mrs. 
More  with  a  spell-bound  feeling,  hardly  able  to  take  in  the 
good  fortune  that  had  befallen  her,  until  that  lady  left  the 
room  ;  but  her  last  thought,  as  she  dropped  to  sleep  in  her 
snug  little  bed,  was  a  wish  that  Miss  Marg'et  could  know 
how  comfortable  she  was ;  and  she  wondered  how  long  it 
would  be  before  she  got  back  to  her  first  friend. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  healing  of  His  seamless  dress 

Is  by  our  beds  of  pain  ; 
We  touch  Him  in  life's  throng  and  press, 

And  we  are  whole  again.  WHITTIER. 

"  OH  dear,"  sighed  Jack,  one  day  as  he  sat  in  Margaret's 
room  on  a  stool,  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  chin 
in  the  palm  of  his  hands.  He  had  been  standing  by  the 
window,  examining  the  frost-pictures,  and  very  likely  had 
found  something  that  looked  like  Santa  Glaus  in  his  Christ 
mas  accoutrements,  for  when  Miss  Patty,  who  sat  by  Marga 
ret's  bed  knitting,  said  softly,  "  What's  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  " 
he  answered, 

"  Why,  to-morrpw's  Christmas,  and  we  can't  do  any  thing 
'cause  Aunty's  so  sick  ;  can't  hang  up  our  stockings,  or  wish 
Merry  Christmas  before  daylight,  or  have  a  plum-pudding,  or 
any  thing  at  all.  Oh,  dear  me  !  " 

"  That's  very  bad,  to  be  sure,"  answered  Miss  Patty ;  but 
hearing  a  slight  movement  at  her  side,  she  shook  her  head 
and  put  her  finger  on  her  lips  ;  so  Jack  said  no  more.  He 
kept  his  dejected  look  and  attitude  for  a  little  while,  and 
then  went  down-stairs. 

"  Miss  Patty  !  " 

Margaret's  voice  was  so  low  and  weak  that  it  seemed 
hardly  more  than  a  faint  whisper,  but  Miss  Patty  heard  it, 
and  her  knitting  was  on  the  chair  instantly. 

"  What  is  it,  ray  dear  ?  " 

"  Will  to-morrow  be  Christmas  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  it  will,  but  it's  of  no  earthly  consequence ; 
it  doesn't  matter  in  the  least  that  I  can  see,  whether  it's 
Christmas  or  Fourth  of  July." 

Margaret's  wan  face  was  flushed,  and  her  lips  quivered, 
showing  Miss  Patty  plainly  that  she  had  heard  poor  Jack's 
complaint. 


A   STOKY    OF   LIFE   IN   A    PRAIBIE    HOME.  71 

"  Only,"  she  added  cheerily,  giving  a  little  touch  to  the 
pillows,  "  if  it  was  Fourth  of  July,  we'd  have  you  out  in 
the  warm  sunshine,  and  get  some  color  into  those  pale 
cheeks ;  we  would  indeed.  But  it's  best  as  it  is,  after  all, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

Margaret  shook  her  head  sadly.  "The  poor  darlings; 
how  selfish  I  have  been  ! " 

"  Selfish ! "  cried  Patty,  looking  at  Margaret  as  if  she 
feared  she  had  suddenly  become  delirious.  "  I  can't  think 
what  you  mean,  my  dear ;  but  never  mind,  don't  try  to  tell 
me.  There,  there,"  she  added,  soothingly,  laying  her  soft, 
cool  hand  on  Margaret's  forehead,  "  we  ain't  going  to  bother 
our  heads  about  days  and  things.  We'll  just  take  this  little 
powder;  and  then  shall  I  say  a  verse,  or  a  hymn  ?  " 

"  Not  just  this  minute,  please,  Miss  Patty.  How  many 
days  have  I  been  lying  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  wish  I  could  put  days  out  of  your  head. 
Why,  let  me  see,"  she  said,  counting  on  her  fingers ;  "  they've 
been  such  sweet  ones  to  me,  that  I  am  afraid  I  sha'n't  count 
'em  all.  There  was  Monday,  that  was  the  day  I  came,  and 
Tuesday — oh,  my,  it's  useless  !  don't  make  me  think  of  such 
foolish  things." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Margaret,  "  thinking  before — before 
I  was  sick — that  I  must  begin  about  Christmas ;  and  that 
must  have  been — " 

"  Only  two  weeks  ago,"  said  Patty,  seeing  that  Margaret 
was  making  a  painful  effort  to  straighten  things  in  her  mind. 

Margaret  sighed,  arid  turned  her  head  wearily  upon  the 
pillow,  and  Miss  Patty  stood  looking  at  her  sorrowfully, 
thinking  that  it  was  all  her  own  fault — she  ought  to  have 
kept  Jack  out  of  the  room.  What  would  the  doctor  say,  if 
he  should  see  her  now  ? 

"  Miss  Patty,  a  week  from  to-morrow  will  be  New- Year's 
day,  won't  it  ?  " 

''  Yes,  to  be  sure,  my  dear." 

"  Well,  you  must  get  me  well  by  that  time,  Miss  Patty ; 
and  the  first  thing,  you  must  sing  to  me." 


72  MAEGAEET I 

"  To  think  that  you  should  care  to  listen  to  such  a  poor 
voice  as  mine  !  But  the  words  are  all  the  same,  ain't  they  ? 
Yes,  of  course  I'll  sing ; "  and  folding  her  hands  in  her  lap, 
and  keeping  time  by  a  gentle  swaying  motion  back  and  forth, 
she  sung  in  a  sweet  little  quavering  voice  : 

"  The  pity  of  the  Lord 
To  those  that  fear  His  name,"  &c. 

The  few  slight  variations  from  the  original  tune  of 
"  Boylston "  only  added  to  the  quaintness,  taking  nothing 
from  the  sweetness  of  the  performance.  When  Miss  Patty 
ceased,  she  found  that  Margaret  lay  with  closed  eyes,  and 
that  the  flush  was  all  gone  ;  so  she  took  up  her  knitting  with 
a  little  sigh  of  relief.  But  it  was  not  long  before  she  heard 
a  noise  that  made  her  fly  to  the  door.  She  closed  it,  all  but 
a  little  crack,  and  stood  with  one  eye  on  the  lookout  to  see 
who  came  up  the  stairs,  fully  determined  within  herself  that 
nobody  should  enter  the  room. 

"  Miss  Patty  !  "  said  Margaret. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  thought  I  had  sung  you  to  sleep." 

"  Who  is  that  at  the  door  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it's  only  a  little  boy,  and  he's  going  right  away 
again  ;  he  doesn't  want  any  thing ;  "  and  Miss  Patty  opened 
the  door  she  had  been  holding,  and  gave  George  the  very 
gentlest  push  imaginable,  saying,  "  Go  away,  Georgie ;  you 
can't  come  in  here  now." 

"  Let  him  come,  Miss  Patty ;  I  want  to  speak  to  him." 

Patty  looked  distressed,  but  permitted  George  to  come 
to  Margaret.  She  held  out  her  hand  for  his,  and  warmly 
returned  his  kiss,  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  ill. 

"  Georgie,  love,  it's  very  hard  for  you  and  Jack  not  to 
have  any  Christmas.  I  can't  tell  you  how  badly  I  feel,  to 
have  disappointed  you  so." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  I  can't  have  you  talk  like  that,"  cried  Miss 
Patty. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  forgive  me  for  spoiling  your 
pleasure,  Georgie  ?  " 


A   STORY    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  73 

"You  didn't  do  it  a-purpose,"  said  George,  too  much 
depressed  by  the  dismal  prospect  for  to-morrow  to  say  th:it 
he  had  nothing  to  forgive,  while  really  the  tears  that  filled 
his  eyes  Avere  as  much  of  unconscious  pity  for  his  aunt's  pale 
face,  as  for  his  own  and  Jack's  sorrows. 

.Margaret  smiled  faintly,  while  Miss  Patty  almost  wrung 
her  hands,  at  what  seemed  to  her  George's  cruelty. 

"  Well,  Georgie,  do  you  think  it  would  be  better  than 
nothing  if  we  kept  New-Year's  day — hung  up  our  stockings, 
and  had  a  plum-pudding  then,  instead  of  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  Aunty,"  answered  George,  brightening.  "  Will 
you  be  all  well  by  that  time  ?  " 

"  I  can't  promise,  dear ;  but  I  will  do  the  very  best  I  can, 
and  if  I'm  not  able  to  make  the  pudding  and  cook  the  turkey 
myself,  I  will  get  Miss  Patty  to  do  it,  and  we  will  keep  the 
day  as  merrily  as  we  can.  Now  kiss  me,  and  go  and  comfort 
poor  Jack." 

"  When  will  it  be  New- Year's  day  ?  "  asked  George. 

"  Next  week,  Tuesday,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Patty,  leading 
him  to  the  door,  and  shutting  it  after  him. 

Margaret  looked  very  tired,  and  her  nurse  sat  by,  feeling 
more  cast  down  about  her  patient  than  she  had  done  before. 
Somehow,  she  seemed  to  be  getting  beyond  her  control. 

"  Miss  Patty,  do  things  seem  at  all  comfortable  down 
stairs  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  after  a  few  minutes. 

"  Oh,  very,  indeed  !  "  answered  Patty,  her  hand  giving  a 
sudden  twitch  that  dropped  a  whole  needleful  of  stitches. 
"  That  is,  my  dear,  as  comfortable  as  could  be  expected  under 
the  circumstances,"  she  added,  nervously ;  "  I  mean,  while 
you  are  sick.  I  couldn't  rightly  say  that  every  thing  is  in 
apple-pie  order.  But  that's  neither  here  nor  there  to  you, 
you  know,"  she  added,  recovering  her  self-possession  and 
some  of  her  stitches.  "  Providence  takes  its  own  ways  to 
make  people  appreciate  their  blessings,  and  we  can't  prevent 
it,  if  we  would.  For  my  part,  I  feel  more  submissive  to 
your  lying  here,  when  I'm  down-stairs,  than  any  other  time." 

Margaret  smiled  doubtfully,  while  Patty,  having  restored 
4 


74  MAEGARET : 

her  stitclies  to  order,  proceeded  to  knit  with  unwonted 
energy. 

"  How  strange  it  is  that  nothing  is  heard  of  poor  Chloe 
yet ! "  said  Margaret,  after  another  few  minutes.  "  I  do 
wonder  where  she  can  be.  They  must  have  gone  away  on 
the  cars  ;  don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Patty  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  at  all  wonder  if  they  had,"  she  replied,  lift 
ing  her  two  forefingers,  as  if  she  meditated  putting  them  in 
her  ears ;  but  seeming  to  conclude  that  it  would  not  serve 
her  purpose  in  soothing  Margaret's  anxieties,  she  began  to 
sing  another  hymn,  and  soon  had  the  comfort  of  seeing  her 
sleeping  quietly. 

Surely,  if  the  extreme  of  disorder  and  discomfort,  in 
Margaret's  absence,  could  have  made  Mr.  Crosby  and  Fanny 
appreciate  the  blessing  of  her  presence,  they  must  have 
learned  to  do  so  before  this ;  but  the  touch  of  severity  with 
which  the  gentle  Miss  Patty  had  intimated  that  she  con 
sidered  the  state  of  things  down-stairs,  whatever  it  might 
be,  a  just  dispensation  of  Providence,  implied  that  she,  at 
least,  was  not  satisfied  with  the  result  of  the  lesson. 

Jotham's  mother  and  Bridget  Flanagan  had  been  sum 
moned  to  the  rescue  two  or  three  times,  in  the  kitchen 
department,  and  were  glad  to  do  all  they  could  for  Margaret's 
sake  ;  but  they  both  had  family  cares  of  their  own,  and  could 
not  come  often,  or  stay  long ;  so  that  Jotham's  clumsy  hands 
and  the  boys'  unreliable  ones  were  the  sole  dependence,  as 
the  general  thing. 

Fanny  had  been  very  poorly  ever  since  Margaret  was 
taken  sick.  All  she  could  do,  and  more,  was  to  look  into 
Margaret's  room  in  the  morning,  and  then  crawl  down-stairs 
to  oversee  things,  that  every  thing  might  not  go  to  rack  and 
ruin ;  which  she  did  by  sitting  in  the  easy-chair  by  the  fire, 
and  administering  reproofs  to  the  boys,  and  orders  to  Jo- 
tham,  or  Bridget,  if  she  happened  to  be  there  ;  which  orders 
might  as  well  have  been  addressed  to  the  wall,  as  she  truly 
asserted. 

For  all  this  she  felt  that  she  deserved  great  credit,  when 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  75 

she  was  utterly  unable  to  leave  her  bed.  But  some  people 
were  compelled  to  bear  the  brunt  of  life's  cares,  while  others 
shirked  their  burdens,  never  thinking  whether  the  shoulders 
they  fell  upon  were  able  to  bear  them  or  not. 

Such  complaints  of  the  disregard  of  some  for  the  feelings 
and  comfort  of  others,  were  sometimes  uttered  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Miss  Patty,  and  it  required  all  the  little  woman's 
Christian  forbearance  to  keep  her  from  giving  Mrs.  Sinclair 
a  piece  of  her  mind.  She  had  not  fully  decided  whether 
31r.  Crosby  shared  those  sentiments,  for  he  was  always  either 
shut  up  in  his  own  room,  or  lying  silent  upon  the  sofa, 'when 
she  prepared  Margaret's  meals — the  only  times  that  she  left 
her  patient. 

The  meals  were  regularly  and  most  carefully  prepared, 
though  even  such  dainty  bits  as  Miss  Patty  could  concoct 
had  as  yet  failed  to  tempt  Margaret.  It  may  have  been 
owing  to  Margaret's  want  of  appetite,  that  Fanny  found 
herself  able  to  sustain  her  arduous  cares ;  she  certainly 
would  not  have  been,  with  no  other  nourishment  than  the 
bread  and  tea,  or  coffee,  varied  by  Bridget's  unsavory  dishes, 
upon  which  her  father  and  the  boys  dieted. 

On  this  day  before  Christmas,  things  seemed  to  have 
reached  a  climax.  The  boys  were  first  cross  and  discon 
tented  because  they  were  not  going  to  have  any  fun,  and 
then  noisy  and  hilarious  over  their  prospects  for  a  good  time 
at  New-Year's  ;  and  their  mother  scolded  them  for  being  so 
cross  about  such  a  trifle,  expressing  herself  to  her  father  and 
Miss  Patty  as  quite  incapable  of  seeing  how  any  body  could 
bear  to  be  the  cause  of  such  disappointments ;  and  then  was 
equally  incapable  of  seeing  how  any  body  could  be  so  incon 
siderate  as  to  tell  excitable  boys  of  a  pleasure  so  long  before 
hand,  and  scolded  them  for  being  so  noisy. 

Bridget  was  there,  but  she  was  washing,  and  had  a  sick 
child  at  home,  so  that  she  could  hardly  be  induced  to  leave 
her  tubs.  Jotham  was  out  of  sorts  at  having  to  do  so  much 
"  women's  work,"  and  when  he  brought  wood  into  the 
sitting-room,  though  that  was  his  business,  threw  it  down 


76  MAEGAEET ! 

by  the  stove,  instead  of  putting  it  in  the  wood-box,  making 
a  great  noise  and  no  little  muss,  which,  added  to  the  accumu 
lated  dust  and  dirt  of  several  days,  made  a  most  untidy  room 

Then,  the  table  had  been  set  by  the  boys,  who  got  into 
a  frolic  over  it,  nearly  pulling  the  cloth  and  all  the  dishes  off 
upon  the  floor.  They  tried  to  straighten  it,  and  to  become 
quiet,  when  Mr.  Crosby  came  from  his  room  and  sternly  re 
proved  them,  shutting  the  door  to  keep  out  their  disturb 
ance,  and  their  mother  almost  went  into  hysterics  over 
their  behavior ;  but  the  table  remained  askew,  and,  with  a 
plate  of  bread  in  one  corner,  butter  in  another,  a  dish  of 
unpeeled  potatoes,  and  fried  ham  swimming  in  fat,  looked 
any  thing  but  inviting.  So,  what  was  Fanny's  dismay  at 
hearing  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  voices  outside. 

"  Oh,  mercy  !  what  shall  we  do  ?  George,  wait !  "  but 
she  was  too  late.  Before  she  was  fairly  out  of  her  chair,  or 
had  time  to  draw  her  shawl  around  her,  the  door  was  open, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas  and  Mrs.  Davis  entered. 

Of  course,  they  took  it  all  in  at  a  glance,  but  they  shook 
hands,  and  made  their  greetings  particularly  animated  and 
impressive,  to  cover  their  own  and  Mrs.  Sinclair's  discom 
posure.  If  Fanny  had  acted  upon  her  first  impulse,  she 
would  have  fled  from  the  room ;  but  summoning  all  her 
seldom-used  graces  of  manner,  and  the  fortitude  that  availed 
her  on  an  occasion  like  this,  however  it  was  lacking  at  other 
times,  she  laughingly  apologized  for  their  disorderly  plight, 
and,  seating  herself,  begged  her  callers  to  be  seated  too.  So 
they  fell  into  easy  chat,  and  Fanny,  exhilarated  by  her 
unwonted  effort  in  the  cause  of  good  breeding,  and  feeling 
that  she  had  conquered  a  terrible  situation,  talked  so  fluently 
and  pleasantly  about  the  wreather,  that  it  Avas  some  time  be 
fore  any  one  had  a  chance  to  inquire  about  Margaret. 

"  Why,  really,  Mrs.  Davis,  I  hardly  know  what  to  tell 
you,"  said  Fanny,  lowering  her  voice  and  looking  perplexed. 

"  I  hope  she  isn't  worse,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  anxiously.  "  I 
saw  Dr.  Somers  the  day  before  yesterday,  and  he  told  me  she 
was  in  no  danger." 


A   STORY    OF   LIFE   IN  A   PKAIRIE    HOME.  77 

"  Danger  !  Oh,  no.  She  has  no  fever,  no  chills,  no  pain 
--no  any  thing  that  I  can  discover.  But  you  know,  when 
one  once  gives  way  to  weakness  of  mind  or  body,  it  is  very 
apt  to  get  the  better  of  one,  especially  if  one  doesn't  exert 
one's  self  to  throw  it  off.  I  don't  know  where  I  should  be, 
if  I  gave  way  to  every  sense  of  weakness  and  languor ; '' 
arid  Fanny  threw  a  great  deal  of  feeling  into  her  blue  eyes. 

"  I  should  hardly  think  of  its  being  weakness  of  mind,  in 
Margaret's  case,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  in  a  constrained  tone ; 
"  and  weakness  of  body  is  a  difficult  thing  to  throw  off." 

"  I  can't  understand  Margaret's  being  ill  in  this  way," 
said  Mr.  Thomas.  "  The  doctor  tells  me  it  is  nervous  ex 
haustion  ;  I  should  think  that  would  only  be  likely  to  follow 
a  severe  mental  strain,  and  hardly  then,  in  a  person  of  Mar 
garet's  brave,  buoyant  disposition." 

"  It  is  very  peculiar,"  said  Fanny.  "  The  only  mental 
strain  Margaret  has  had  was  the  loss  of  that  black  Chloe  she 
had  been  so  interested  in ;  but  one  would  hardly  think  that 
could  have  affected  her  so." 

"  Perhaps  she  had  over-exerted  herself,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Thomas.  "  Had  she  done  any  thing  that  especially  taxed  her 
strength  ?  " 

"  No,  nothing  more  than  her  usual  little  household  duties," 
answered  Fanny.  "  She  went  to  meeting  that  Sunday,  but 
that  couldn't  have  been  too  much  for  her." 

"  To  meeting  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Thomas,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  answered  her  husband ;  "  it  was  while 
you  were  in  Chicago.  I  preached  in  the  red  school-house, 
near  Jenny's,  tmd  Margaret  and  the  boys  were  there.  You 
know  I  told  you  about  Robert  Russell's  being  there,  and 
leading  the  singing." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  remember,"  replied  Mrs.  Thomas.  "  And  it 
was  the  very  next  day  that  Margaret  was  taken  sick — was  it 
not,  Mrs.  Sinclair  ?  " 

"  She  was  ill  that  very  day,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  looking 
wonderingly  at  Fanny,  who  had  started  and  turned  deathly 
pale,  for  no  possible  reason  that  Mrs.  Davis  could  divine. 


78  MAEGABET : 

"  Don't  you  remember,  brother,  how  wretchedly  she  looked 
after  the  morning  service,  and  her  lying  down  before  dinner, 
and  looking  so  white  and  worn  all  the  rest  of  the  day  ?  My 
heart  ached  for  her ;  but  there  was  something  in  her  look 
and  manner  that  made  me  feel  almost  awe-stricken,  and  I 
couldn't  offer  any  thing,  for  her  pain  seemed  to  me  beyond 
the  reach  of  human  skill.  I  can't  tell  why,"  added  Mrs. 
Davis,  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  "  but  I  have  had  the 
strangest,  intensest  sympathy  and  solicitude  for  Margaret 
ever  since  that  day ;  and  nothing  could  have  kept  me  from 
coming  to  nurse  her,  only  I  knew  Patty  Hopkins  was  here, 
and  that  she  would  do  far  better  than  I  should.  Then  I 
have  heard  from  her  through  Dr.  Somers  every  day  or  two." 

The  boys  had  been  very  quiet  during  this  conversation 
about  their  aunt ;  but  when  Mrs.  Davis  ceased,  George 
asked,  "  Has  that  Mr.  Russell  been  back  again  ?  " 

"  No,  Georgie  ;  he  isn't  coming  back  this  way." 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Mr.  Russell,  George  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Thomas. 

"  Why,  didn't  I  hear  Annie  and  Charlie  Davis  talking 
about  him  all  noon-time  that  Sunday,  and  don't  I  know  that 
he  made  lots  of  money  in  China  ?  " 

"  It  was  strange,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  turning  to  Fanny, 
u  what  an  impression  Mr.  Russell  made  on  our  children.  He 
was  only  there  one  night,  and  before  church  Sunday  morn 
ing  ;  yet  not  a  day  passes  that  the  children  don't  wish  he 
would  come  back.  We  were  sorry  he  couldn't  have  stayed 
to  see  Margaret.  Brother  and  I  had  an  idea  that  they  would 
be  kindred  spirits." 

"  Indeed !  "  Fanny  managed  to  say. 

"  Mother,  I  mean  to  go  to  China  when  I'm  big ;  wouldn't 
you  ?  "  said  George. 

To  Fanny's  intense  relief,  Miss  Patty  came  down  just  then. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Davis,  that  is  you,  isn't  it  ?  Well,  Margaret 
got  an  idea,  I'm  sure  I  can't  tell  how,  that  it  was,  and  she 
wants  to  see  you  a  little  minute — about  some  business,"  she 
added,  by  way  of  an  excuse  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas. 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PRAIKIE   HOME.  79 

Mrs.  Davis  followed  Patty  up-stairs  to  receive  Margaret's 
commissions  for  New-Year's  presents  for  the  boys ;  and, 
thanks  to  the  interruption,  Fanny  had  gained  control  over 
herself,  so  that  she  could  talk  coherently  for  the  few  minutes 
that  Mrs.  Davis  was  gone,  and  say  "  good-by,"  and  see  them 
depart. 

When  the  children  saw  their  mother  go  hastily  up-stairs, 
they  called  to  her  that  dinner  was  on  the  table ;  but  she 
answered,  "  I  want  no  dinner,"  in  a  hollow  voice,  and  went 
on.  Locked  in  her  own  room,  she  sat  pale  and  rigid  all  the 
afternoon,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  enduring  keen  and 
bitter  pangs  for  the  sufferings  of  another,  being  convinced, 
beyond  the  power  of  a  doubt,  that  she  had  caused  her  sister's 
illness,  and  long  years  of  loneliness  and  desolation,  of  which 
this  was  but  a  faint  outward  sign.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she  was  undergoing  a  fierce  struggle  between  her  better 
feeling ;  and  her  selfishness ;  for  she  had  in  her  possession, 
long  ago  hidden  away  and  forgotten,  a  sealed  letter  which 
she  knew,  however  much  she  might  resist  the  conviction, 
would  at  least  bring  some  comfort  and  healing  to  her  sister's 
heart. 

She  had  known  at  the  time  that  the  letter  came  into  her 
hands — and  she  blushed  to  recall  how  it  came  to  hers,  and 
never  to  Margaret's — that  it  would  have  dispelled  the  barrier 
her  own  words  and  deeds  had  conjured  up  between  two 
loving  hearts ;  and  she  endured  over  again  the  agony  of 
wounded  vanity  with  which  she  had  found  that  even  that  last 
desperate  expedient  had  failed  to  secure  Robert  Russell  for 
herself.  Perhaps  that  stinging  remembrance  helped  to  turn 
the  scale  against  Margaret,  and  her  own  better  nature. 

The  afternoon  waned,  and  twilight  gathered  before  she 
moved  from  her  place.  Then  she  discovered  that  it  was 
growing  dark,  and  that  she  was  almost  benumbed  with  the 
cold.  With  resolute  fingers  she  opened  the  secret  place, 
whose  existence  even  she  had  almost  forgotten,  and  left  the 
room  with  the  letter  in  her  hand.  Passing  her  sister's  door 
with  her  head  averted,  she  went  down-stairs,  and,  putting  the 


80  MAEGAKET : 

letter  into  the  fire,  -watched  it  as  its  folds  opened  and  curled, 
grew  red  and  blackened,  and  then  fell  into  pale  ashes. 

"  There,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that  is  the  best  thing  to  do. 
Now  there  is  no  danger  of  my  being  tempted  to  give  it  to 
her  and  awaken  hopes  that  could  never  be  realized ;  for  in  all 
probability  he  is  married,  or  has  forgotten  her.  And,  after 
all,  it  may  have  been  only  a  farewell  letter ; "  but  then  she 
recalled  the  farewell  letter  that  came  afterwards,  when  no 
reply  was  sent  to  this  long  one.  "  Well,  it's  over,  and  it  was 
the  kindest  thing  for  her  and  me.  There  was  no  need  of 
making  her  hate  me  for  nothing." 

For  a  little  while,  after  their  cheerless  supper,  Fanny  sat 
silent  and  gloomy  by  the  fire ;  Mr.  Crosby  lay  with  closed 
eyes  on  the  sofa,  and  the  boys,  feeling  a  hush  in  the  dimly- 
lighted  room,  sat  in  a  corner  by  the  stove,  talking  in  under 
tones.  By-and-by  Fanny  got  up,  saying,  "  I  am  going  to 
bed,  father ;  I  am  very  tired.  Good  night ;  good  night, 
children,"  and  went  up-stairs.  On  her  way  to  her  own  room 
she  stopped  to  see  Margaret,  whose  eyes  brightened  at  the 
•unusual  interest  in  her  sister's  manner  of  asking  how  she 
felt,  and  if  there  was  nothing  she  could  do  for  her.  She  was 
disappointed  that  Fanny  did  not  kiss  her  good-night ;  but  it 
was  a  great  deal  for  her  to  show  so  much  interest. 

Pretty  soon  the  boys  came  softly  up  the  stairs,  Jack  with 
his  shoes  in  his  hand,  and  George  on  tiptoe.  Miss  Patty 
would  have  put  them  gently  away,  but  Margaret  said,  "  Let 
them  come." 

"  Do  you  feel  better,  Aunty  ?  "  asked  Jack.  "  I  do  wish 
you'd  get  well.  It's  as  cold  and  dark  as  any  thing  down 
stairs.  Nothing's  a  bit  nice  ;  "  and  he  laid  his  head  discon 
solately  on  the  pillow,  and  Margaret  laid  her  hand  tenderly 
upon  his  cheek. 

"  So  do  I  wish  you'd  get  well,  Aunty,"  said  George ; 
"  and  not  because  of  Christmas,  either.  I'd  rather  you'd  be 
well  than  to  have  forty-nine  Christmases  all  in  a  bunch." 

"  There,  my  dears,"  said  Miss  Patty,  seeing  that  Mar 
garet's  face  was  flushed  again. 


A   BTOKY    OF   LIFE   IN   A    PKAIBIE    HOME.  81 

"  Oh,  let  them  stay ;  they  do  me  more  good  than  you  can 
think."  'So  they  talked  together  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
the  boys  went  to  bed. 

While  Miss  Patty  was  rejoicing  that  there  could  be  noth 
ing  more  to  excite  her  patient  that  night,  slow,  feeble  steps 
were  heard  on  the  stairs,  and  a  gentle  tap  came  at  the  door. 

"  My  dear  father,  have  you  come  all  the  way  up-stairs  to 
see  me  ?  " 

"  It's  lonely  down-stairs,"  said  her  father,  so  sadly,  that 
tears  sprang  to  Margaret's  eyes.  "  How  do  you  feel  to-night, 
my  child  ?  " 

"  Dear  father,  I  am  a  great  deal  better  to-night ;  that  is, 
I  feel  that  I  am  going  to  be  a  great  deal  better.  I  shall  be 
down-stairs  before  you  think  of  it." 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  glad.     We  need  you  sadly,  child." 

Margaret  took  her  father's  hand,  that  lay  on  the  bed,  and 
clasped  it  in  both  of  hers.  Then  she  looked  at  it,  and  in  his 
face.  She  thought  he  had  grown  thinner,  and  older,  since 
she  was  sick. 

"  Are  you  as  well  as  usual,  father  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so,"  he  replied ;  "  but  I  shall  feel  better 
when  you  get  about  again.  I'll  sit  here  awhile,  if  you  don't 
mind,  and  hear  Miss  Hopkins  sing  the  hymn  she  sung  to-day ; 
I  just  heard  a  little  of  it  when  the  stairway-door  was  open. 
Your  mother  used  to  sing  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  remember." 

So  Patty  sung,  in  a  smaller  and  more  trembling  voice 
than  ever,  while  Margaret  held  her  father's  hand  clasped  in 
hers.  When  the  hymn  was  ended,  neither  spoke,  but  Mr. 
Crosby  kissed  his  daughter,  and  went  down-stairs. 

When  they  were  once  more  alone,  Miss  Patty  took  the 
Bible,  and,  putting  on  her  spectacles,  read  to  Margaret,  as 
she  always  did  the  last  thing  at  night,  if  no  more  than  two 
or  three  verses.  Now  she  read  a  good  many  verses  from  the 
twelfth  chapter  of  Hebrews ;  and  when  she  had  finished, 
Margaret  said,  "  HOAV  did  you  know  just  what  I  needed  to 
night  ?  " 

4* 


82  MARGAEET. 

"  Oh,  I  knew,  my  dear,"  answered  Miss  Patty,  as  she 
flitted  around  the  room,  making  things  to  the  last  degree 
tidy,  before  she  should  lie  down  on  her  little  couch ;  "  I 
knew  very  well  that  you  didn't  want  to  hear  about  the 
'  many  mansions,'  and  the  '  rest  that  remaineth,'  and  the 
golden  city,  to-night." 

"  No,"  thought  Margaret,  "  the  mansions  are  ready,  but  I 
am  not  meet  for  them  yet.  How  could  I  think  of  resting, 
when  my  race  was  but  just  begun  ?  '  So  great  a  cloud  of 
witnesses.'  I  wonder  if  mother  knows  how  I  have  faltered, 
how  I  have  longed  for  the  rest,  while  I  dreaded  to  run  the 
race  ?  I  will  lay  aside  every  weight,  and  run  with  patience 
and  courage,  and  when  I  reach  the  goal,  it  will  be  sweet — 
'  beyond  remembering  and  forgetting ' — '  beyond  the  ever 
and  the  never ' — '  love,  rest,  and  home,  sweet  home.'  But  I 
must  not  dwell  too  much  upon  the  prize ;  that  will  not  help 
me  to  run  with  patience.  I  must  look  only  to  Jesus,  my 
ever-present  Friend  and  Helper.  How  gently  and  tenderly 
He  has  reminded  me  to-day  that  I  have  something  to  do,  and 
that  life  is  not  valueless  and  aimless.  Aimless !  with  so  much 
evil  in  myself  to  overcome  ;  with  father,  sister,  and  the  dear 
children  to  care  for,  and  so  many  to  whom  I  can  at  least  give 
a  cup  of  cold  water ! " — and,  thus  thinking,  her  thoughts 
gradually  grew  indistinct,  until  she  fell  asleep,  arid  slept  more 
sweetly  and  refreshingly  than  she  had  done  for  many  nights. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky, 

The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light ; 

The  year  is  dying  in  the  night ; 
Ring  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die.  TEN*NTSON. 

"  OH,  is  that  you,  doctor  ? "  called  Miss  Patty  from 
the  kitchen-door  the  day  before  New-Year's,  as  Dr.  Somers 
stopped  at  the  gate. 

"  Yes,  I  believe  it  is,"  he  replied,  tying  his  horse. 
"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  asked,  looking  into  the 
kitchen  before  he  went  up-stairs,  and  laughing  heartily  as  he 
saw  Miss  Patty.  She  had  on  a  clean  ruffled  nightcap,  and 
one  of  Margaret's  checked  aprons  tied  around  her  neck  and 
again  around  l.er  waist,  and  never  stopped  her  business  of 
rolling  out  piecrust  as  she  answered,  "  Oh,  you  may  laugh  1 
I'm  making  a  lot  of  nice  things  against  to-morrow." 

"  What's  going  on  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Margaret  has  set  her  heart  on  having  a  grand  din 
ner  ;  and  it  shall  be,  if  these  old  hands  can  make  it  so ! " 
and  Patty  nodded  her  head  till  her  cap-frills  danced. 

"  Humph !  this  is  a  fine  how-to-do  !  I'll  see  about  your 
having  a  grand  dinner  without  consulting  me;"  and  the 
doctor  went  up-stairs. 

"  What's  all  this  ? "  he  cried,  as  he  opened  Margaret's 
door. 

"All  for  Ne\v- Year's  day,"  answered  Margaret,  meeting 
his  look  of  pretended  horror  with  a  bright  smile,  that  was 
more  like  herself,  and  more  welcome  to  him,  than  any  thing 
he  had  seen  in  a  long  time,  and  he  stood  a  minute  to  enjoy 
the  pretty  picture. 

A  bright,  crackling  wood-fire  burned  in  the  little  fire 
place,  and  on  one  side  sat  Margaret  in  a  large  rocking-chair, 
made  luxurious  with  quilts  and  blankets ;  on  the  floor  was 
spread  a  sheet  covered  with  evergreens,  in  the  midst  of 


84  V \KGAEET  : 

which  sat  the  boys,  all  absorbed  in  making  wreaths  and  long 
strips  for  festoons,  which  they  had  learned  to  do  very  skil 
fully  under  Margaret's  direction.  The  winter's  sun  shone  in 
upon  them,  making  Jack's  curly  hair  look  like  threads  of 
gold,  and  George's  cheeks  like  crimson  pippins. 

And  how  fair  and  sweet  Margaret  looked !  She  had  not 
gained  a  tinge  of  color,  but  the  old  light  had  come  back  to 
her  eyes — at  least,  it  was  there  now — and  her  mouth  had  not 
forgotten  how  to  smile — a  real  sunny  smile,  as  the  doctor  said 
to  himself.  She  looked  enough  like  a  spirit  yet,  but  he 
thought  they  need  not  be  afraid  of  the  wings  growing,  just 
at  present. 

Miss  Patty  had  spent  a  full  half-hour  on  Margaret's  toilet, 
notwithstanding  the  pressing  duties  of  the  day ;  and  though 
the  doctor  only  saw  the  effect  of  her  loving  cares,  he  was 
quite  satisfied  that,  however  much  attention  other  things 
might  receive,  there  had  been  no  lack  of  it  there. 

"  How  dared  you  get  up  without  asking  my  leave  ?  "  he 
said,  coming  around  to  Margaret's  chair. 

"  I  wanted  to  surprise  you,  doctor,"  answered  Margaret. 
"  You  didn't  expect  me  to  get  well  so  fast ;  did  you  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you  wouldn't  be  long  about  it  when  you  once 
got  started ;  but  I  didn't  know  just  when  you  would  be  ready 
to  begin." 

"  It  took  me  longer  than  was  necessary,"  said  Margaret, 
a  shadow  crossing  her  face. 

"  No  such  thing,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  a  very  positive 
shake  of  the  head ;  "  not  a  bit  of  it.  The  only  wonder  is, 
that  you  weren't  longer  yet.  But  mind  you,  Miss,  I'm  going 
to  look  after  you  as  a  cat  looks  after  a  mouse,  from  this  time 
forth — that  is,  till  Mr.  Skinner,  or  some  other  good  man, 
comes  along  to  take  you  off  my  hands." 

The  doctor  did  not  see  the  puzzled  expression  of  Mar 
garet's  face,  for  he  was  intently  watching  the  boys,  and  she 
could  only  guess,  from  the  twinkle  in  the  corners  of  his  eyes 
and  mouth,  that  he  knew  something  of  her  almost  forgotten 
episode  with  Mr.  Skinner ;  but  how,  she  could  not  imagine. 


A  STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE    HOME.  85 

"  Why,  in  the  name  of  all  that's  humane,  don't  you  ask 
me  to  come  here  to  dinner  to-morrow  ?  "  asked  the  doctor, 
turning  suddenly  from  the  boys  to  Margaret.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  having  a  New- Year's  feast,  and  leaving  me  out, 
when  you  know  that  my  wife  and  daughters  are  away,  and  I 
can't  have  any  at  home  ?  " 

"  Why,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  never  thought  of  your  caring 
to  come ;  but  I  am  sure  I  wish  you  Avould,  and  I  will  invite 
you  upon  one  condition :  that  you  let  me  go  down-stairs  in 
the  morning,  and  stay  all  day." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  disconsolately.  "  I  see  I  shall 
have  to  eat  my  dinner  all  by  myself  at  home." 

"  But,  doctor,  you  see  I  can't  trust  to  Jotham's  taste  in 
putting  up  these  pretty  wreaths  and  festoons,  and  I  must  be 
there  to  give  directions." 

"  Boys  !  are  those  things  'most  done  ?  "  cried  the  doctor, 
starting  up. 

"  Yes,  'most,"  answered  George,  too  busy  to  waste  words. 

"  Well,  hurry  up,  and  we'll  fix  'em  ourselves,  without  any 
of  Jotham's  help  or  your  aunt's  directions.  You  daren't  say 
that  you  can't  trust  my  taste  ?  " — to  Margaret. 

"  No,"  replied  Margaret,  "  because  it  isn't  true.  I  arn 
glad  enough  to  have  you  do  it,  and  I  beg  you  will  come  and 
dine  with  us  to-morrow,  Dr.  Somers." 

"  Thank  you.  I  will,  with  pleasure ;  and  when  I  come, 
I'll  escort  you  down,  Miss  Crosby.  Come,  boys  ;  you've  got 
enough  of  these  festooneries  to  trim  Freedom's  Hall,  in 
Jonesville ! "  He  caught  two  corners  of  the  sheet,  the 
boys  jumped  up  and  caught  the  other  two,  and  they  all  ran 
down-stairs  in  high  spirits,  and  for  an  hour  Margaret  heard 
their  merry  voices,  as  they  trimmed  the  little  sitting-room, 
which  Bridget  had  already  made  as  clean  and  fresh  as  pos 
sible. 

The  busy  day  came  to  an  end,  but  not  before  Miss  Patty's 
work  was  all  done.  Before  dark  she  took  off  her  cap  nnd 
apron,  and  gave  a  final  survey  to  the  rows  of  mince  and 
pumpkin  pies,  the  turkeys,  chickens,  and  plum-pudding,  all 


86  MARGARET  I 

ready  for  cooking  the  next  day,  and  bestowed  a  critical 
glance  upon  the  kitchen,  which  was  quite  as  neat  as  if  Mar 
garet  herself  had  presided  there. 

"  Here,  Bridget,"  she  said,  as  Bridget  appeared,  ready  tc 
go  home  to  her  children,  "  here's  a  basket  of  things  for  you 
from  Miss  Margaret,  and  she  wishes  you  and  the  children  a 
Happy  New- Year." 

"  Och  !  an'  did  she,  indade,  the  swate  angel !  an'  shure, 
if  there  iver  was  one  on  the  airth,  it's  hersel' — bliss  the  kind 
heart  iv  her !  "  As  Bridget  trudged  home,  she  lifted  the 
cover  of  the  basket,  and  spied  so  many  good  things  to  eat, 
besides  several  pairs  of  little  bright-colored  woollen  mittens, 
that  she  went  on  whispering  blessings  on  Margaret,  as  if 
that  had  been  the  first  basket  of  the  sort  she  had  ever  re 
ceived  from  her. 

When  Patty  came  up  with  Margaret's  supper,  she  found 
the  room  all  quiet  and  serene,  with  the  flickering  firelight 
playing  on  Margaret's  face,  giving  it  the  glow  of  health ;  and 
as  she  placed  the  little  stand  by  her  chair,  she  thought  that 
of  all  sweet  places  on  the  earth,  that  little  room,  with  Mar 
garet  in  it,  was  the  very  sweetest. 

"  Miss  Patty,"  said  Margaret,  "  are  you  perfectly  tired 
out  with  all  your  cooking  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  not  a  bit  of  it !  I  have  swept  a  room,  and 
been  more  tired  than  I  am  this  night.  Tired  !  no,  indeed." 

"  Is  father  alone  down-stairs,  Miss  Patty  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  believe  he  is.  The  boys  are  busy  about 
something,  and  Mrs.  Sinclair  is  in  her  room." 

"  Well,  won't  you  ask  him  to  come  up  and  take  tea  with 
me  ?  There  is  enough  for  us  both,  and  I  know  he  would  like 
it.  The  boys  will  be  good  with  you." 

Mr.  Crosby  came,  and  was  in  no  hurry  to  leave  the  pleas 
ant  place  when  tea  was  over. 

Margaret  felt  that  she  was  more  to  her  father  than  she 
had  ever  been  before,  and  that  she  could  wait  hopefully  and 
labor  patiently  for  their  home  to  become  all  that  she  longed 
to  have  it. 


A   8TOEY    OF   LIFE   IN   A    PKAIRIE    HOME.  87 

Hour  after  hour  of  the  night,  as  she  lay  awake,  memories 
of  the  past  would  come,  in  the  presence  of  the  Old  Year  just 
dying  and  the  New  Year  coming  in.  Once,  long  ago,  she 
had  kept  watch  for  the  Old  and  the  New,  with  one  whose 
high  soul  responded  to  every  aspiration  of  hers ;  whose  hand, 
clasping  hers,  gave  promise  of  help  and  guidance  through  all 
the  coming  years. 

She  had  never  doubted  the  truth  and  nobleness  of  the 
heart  that  spoke  through  those  earnest  eyes  and  that  hand. 
She  only  felt  that  she  had  failed  to  call  forth  the  deepest  love 
of  which  it  was  capable,  or  it  would  not  so  readily  have  lost 
faith  in  her  steadfastness.  While  that  was  agony  enough,  it 
was  better  than  if  she  had  been  obliged  to  mourn  over  a 
fallen  ideal ;  and  she  had  grown  to  think  of  her  lost  love  as 
one  thinks  of  friends  in  heaven.  But  when  she  heard  his 
voice  and  felt  his  presence,  and  realized  what  it  was  to  be 
near  him,  even  with  the  shadow  of  the  past  enveloping  them, 
she  tasted  again  the  bitterness  of  her  loss. 

But  the  bitterness,  the  shrinking  from  life's  burdens,  the 
longing  for  rest,  and  the  acjiing  sense  of  irremediable  loss, 
were  gone  now ;  and  though  she  still  felt  "  heart-bare,  heart- 
hungry,  very  poor"  in  earthly  treasures — in  the  love  that 
gives,  in  full  measure  for  all  it  receives,  the  hopes  that  in 
cluded  herself  as  well  as  others — she  had  come  to  accept  this 
poverty  as  a  mysterious  benefaction  from  her  heavenly 
Father,  and  to  trust  that  in  His  own  way  He  would  make  up 
to  her  for  the  lack  of  that  for  which  her  whole  nature  cried 
out ;  and  if  it  should  only  be  through  ministering  to  others, 
and  keeping  her  own  garments  white  against  her  entrance 
into  her  heavenly  mansion,  she  would  not  repine. 

It  was  thus  that  she  could  think  calmly,  and  even  cheer 
fully,  of  all  the  things  that  came  unbidden  into  her  mind 
this  death-night  of  the  Old  Year. 

A  full  hour  before  the  New  Year  saw  the  sunlight  for  the 
first  time,  George  and  Jack  opened  their  eyes  wide  in  the 
darkness,  and  began  to  speculate  in  whispers  upon  the  con 
tents  of  their  stockings.  After  waiting  as  long  as  they  could 


Stt  MARGARET  : 

— which  was  not  long — George  got  up  and  stole  softly  into 
Margaret's  room,  where  the  stockings  were  hung  on  each 
side  of  the  fireplace,  and  scampered  back  to  bed  with  them  ; 
and  when  the  first  bit  of  daylight  looked  in  at  the  windows, 
they  ran  to  all  the  doors,  wishing  every  body  a  Happy  New- 
Year. 

Fanny  was  sitting  in  Margaret's  room,  soon  after  break 
fast,  when  the  doctor  unexpectedly  appeared.  He  lifted  his 
shaggy  eyebrows  in  surprise,  for  this  was  the  first  time  he 
had  seen  Fanny  there,  and  then  sat  down  by  Margaret  with 
the  most  dejected  air. 

"  I  can't  come  and  help  eat  your  turkey  to-day,"  he 
said. 

"  Oh,  why  not  ?  "  exclaimed  Margaret  and  Fanny. 

"  Why,  you  see,  there's  a  man — a  college-friend  of  mine, 
though  he  isn't  quite  as  venerable  as  I  am — who  has  been 
threatening  to  come  and  see  me  for  a  long  time.  He  is  a 
doctor  in  St.  Louis,  and  has  been  tired  out  for  months,  and 
needing  rest ;  and  what  should  he  do  but  come  to  my  door 
last  night,  when  I  was  fast  auleep,  like  the  Man  in  the  good 
Book,  and  ask  me  to  let  him  in.  I  didn't  send  him  off,  but  I 
don't  know  what  he  will  say  when  he  comes  to  eat  such  a 
New- Year's  dinner  as  my  unassisted  Abigail  can  get  up.  It 
serves  him  right,  though,  for  coming  when  my  wife  was 
away.  But,  poor  me  !  what  have  I  done  that  I  should  have 
to  go  without  so  many  good  things  ?  " 

"  Why,  doctor,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  shouldn't  think  you 
need  have  waited  for  an  invitation  to  bring  him  with  you." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Fanny,  "  we  should  be  delighted  to  see 
him." 

The  doctor  pretended  to  be  very  much  surprised  and  re 
lieved. 

"  He's  an  old  bachelor,  by  the  way,"  he  said,  turning 
back  as  he  was  leaving  the  room,  "  and  pretty  well  off,  too  ; 
but  don't  you  go  to  captivating  him  as  you  did  Mr.  Skinner! 
I  won't  have  him  trifled  with."  And  with  a  threatening 
shake  of  his  head  at  Margaret,  he  shut  the  door. 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  89 

"What  nonsense  was  that  about  your  captivating  Mr 
Skinner  ?  "  asked  Fanny. 

"  Only  some  of  the  doctor's  nonsense,"  answered  Marga 
ret;  "ho  likes  to  tease  people." 

"Well,  now,  what  shall  I  wear?  If  I  had  only  known 
this  in  time,  I  might  have  had  a  dress  made  over.  Miss 
Patty  sews,  doesn't  she  ?  My  dresses  are  all  so  antiquated  1 " 

"  Our  visitors  being  gentlemen,  will  not  know  whether 
you  are  just  in  the  fashion  or  not,"  replied  Margaret.  "  Your 
dresses  are  all  rich  and  tasteful." 

"I  do  think  it  is  a  most  dreadful  thing  to  live  so  out  of 
the  world  as  we  do.  I  can't  endure  it  much  longer ; "  and 
Fanny  went  to  her  own  room,  where  she  was  busy  all  the 
morning  selecting  her  dress  and  laces  and  arranging  her 
beautiful  hair  for  the  momentous  occasion. 

Patty  helped  Margaret  to  dress,  and  then  went  to  attend 
to  things  in  the  kitchen,  much  against  her  will,  leaving  Mar 
garet  to  put  a  few  last  stitches  in  a  dressing-gown  she  had 
been  making  for  her  father  before  her  illness,  which,  as  he 
had  not  seen  it,  she  was  going  to  give  him  for  a  New- Year's 
present.  The  boys  were  full  of  business,  as  boys  always  are 
on  such  days ;  and  even  Mr.  Crosby  seemed  interested  in  the 
unusual  bustle. 

"  Oh,  Fanny,  how  lovely  you  look  !  "  was  Mai'garet's  in 
voluntary  expression  as  her  sister  entered  her  room,  a  little 
before  dinner-time. 

"  Do  I  ? "  said  Fanny,  with  a  gratified  smile ;  "  it's 
strange  if  I  have  kept  any  of  my  good  looks  in  this  wilder 
ness  1  But  even  here,  there  does  come  a  time,  once  in  an 
age,  when  one  is  glad  to  look  well.  You  look  nicely,  too," 
she  added,  gazing  rather  doubtfully  at  her  sister's  lovely 
face  and  becoming  dress.  "  But  you  have  no  color,  and 
your  eyes  are  languid.  Excitement  doesn't  brighten  yon  up 
as  it  docs  some  people ; "  and  she  glanced  at  her  own  face 
in  the  glass. 

"Isn't  it  strange,"  she  continued,  as  Margaret  did  not 
speak,  "  that  with  all  my  ill  health  I  look  so  young  ?  I 


90  MARGARET : 

don't  believe  any  one  would  take  me  to  be  older  than 
you." 

There  was  a  little  sparkle  in  Margaret's  eyes,  and  the 
very  slightest  curl  of  her  lip,  as  she  answered,  "  I  suppose 
different  troubles  affect  faces  differently.  Tour's  does  not 
happen  to  be  one  that  turns  the  hair  gray  and  makes  the 
skin  sallow ; "  and  then,  ashamed  of  her  unnoticed  sarcasm, 
she  added, "  but  you  really  look  much  younger  than  you  are, 
dear,  and  when  you  are  dressed  becomingly,  as  you  are  now, 
look  wonderfully  well.  Here's  my  New- Year's  giftie  to  you, 
Fanny.  It  is  not  much,  but  I  hope  you  will  think  it  better 
than  none,"  and  Margaret  took  from  her  drawer  a  dainty 
little  breakfast-cap,  made  of  old-fashioned  but  exquisite  lace, 
and  finished  with  blue  bows. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  said  Fanny,  holding  it  up ;  "  that's 
really  lovely,  and  will  be  very  becoming,  I  know.  But  when 
ever  shall  I  have  a  chance  to  wear  it  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  morning,  if  you  will,"  answered  Margaret, 
gently. 

Just  then  Dr.  Somers'  sleigh  drove  up,  and  Fanny, 
having  taken  a  sly  look  at  the  stranger  from  the  window, 
went  down  to  receive  him,  which  she  did  with  a  graceful 
cordiality  that  amazed  Dr.  Somers,  and  put  his  friend,  Dr. 
Doane,  entirely  at  ease  about  being  an  unwelcome  intruder 
at  their  family  feast. 

"  Well,  well !"  the  doctor  said  to  Margaret,  when  he  had 
asked  how  she  felt,  and  scolded  her  for  sewing;  "a  leopard 
can't  change  his  spots,  nor  an  Ethiopian  his  skin  ;  but  I  have 
seen  more  astonishing  changes  than  those  would  be — trans 
formations,  metamorphoses  ; — can  you  assure  me,  tho  gh,  on 
your  word  of  honor,  that  that  beautiful,  animated,  well- 
pressed  woman  down-stairs  is  your  sister,  Mrs.  Sinclair?" 

Margaret  smiled.  "  You  never  happened  to  see  Fanny 
when  she  felt  well  and  cheerful." 

"  I  suppose  she  only  feels  so  when  there's  something  to 
make  it  woith  while,"  he  answered,  gruffly.  "  You  needn't 
frown  at  me,"  he  added,  in  answer  to  Margaret's  look  of  re- 


91 

proach.  "  But  come  down-stairs,  now  ;  you  arc  a  match  for 
the  handsomest  as  well  as  the  best." 

They  found  Fanny  and  Dr.  Doane  chatting  in  the  most 
animated  manner;  and  Dr.  Somers  looked  on  with  jealous 
eyes  to  see  the  impression  Margaret  made  upon  his  friend. 
Her  greeting  was  quite  as  graceful  and  cordial  as  Fanny's, 
with  the  added  element  of  simplicity  and  sincerity,  which  he 
saw  and  appreciated,  whatever  a  stranger  might  do.  Dr. 
Doane  was  a  tall,  slight  man,  with  dark  hair  and  beard,  a 
broad  intellectual  forehead,  gentle,  flexible  mouth,  and  large, 
soft  eyes ;  and  there  was  about  him  an  air  of  refinement  and 
cultivation. 

"  Well,  Margaret,"  said  Dr.  Somers,  when  he  had  placed 
her  on  the  lounge  to  rest  till  dinner  was  brought  in,  "  how 
do  you  like  our  decorations  ?  " 

"  They  are  perfect,"  she  replied,  looking  admiringly 
around  the  room.  "But  what  is  that?"  she  asked,  as  her 
eyes  fell  on  an  engraving  that  hung  between  the  windows, 
with  a  wreath  over  it. 

"That?  let's  see,"  and  the  doctor  took  the  picture  down 
and  brought  it  to  Margaret.  It  was  one  that  she  bad  often 
admired  in  Dr.  Somers'  parlor,  and  she  knew  at  once  that  it 
was  a  gift  from  him.  She  thanked  him  heartily,  and  while 
still  examining  it,  the  boys  came  in,  all  rosy  and  excited 
over  their  new  sleds,  presents  from  the  good  doctor.  When 
they  saw  Margaret,  they  dashed  their  caps  on  the  floor,  nearly 
stifling  her  with  kisses,  in  their  joy  at  having  her  down 
stairs  again. 

Then  Mr.  Crosby  came  in,  and  after  speaking  to  the 
visitors,  he  bent  over  Margaret,  telling  her  how  glad  he 
was  to  have  her  with  them  once  more,  and  how  thankful  for 
the  new  dressing-gown,  which  he  had  on.  By  that  time 
dinner  was  on  the  table,  and  Miss  Patty  appeared,  with  her 
face  a  little  flushed,  but  looking  very  nice  in  her  clean  white 
apron,  and  the  new  cap,  Margaret's  present  that  morning. 

The  dinner  was  all  very  nice,  and  Miss  Patty  was  more 
than  rewarded,  if  she  had  needed  any  other  reward  than 


92  MAEGARET I 

Margaret's  satisfaction,  for  every  thing  was  pronounced  per 
feet,  from  the  turkey  down.  Every  body  was  cheerful  and 
talkative,  and  Dr.  Somers  outdid  himself  in  telling  funny 
stories.  Wven  they  left  the  table,  they  fell  into  more  quiet 
after-dinner  talk.  Dr.  Doane,  fresh  from  the  stir  of  the  city, 
had  much  to  tell  his  eager  listeners  of  what  was  going  on  in 
the  world  of  books,  music,  and  art,  and  his  touches  upon  so 
cial  life  were,  to  Fanny,  like  a  taste  of  her  old  enjoyments. 

"  I  say,  Miss  Crosby  ! "  Jotham  had  opened  the  door  from 
the  kitchen,  and,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  called  Marga 
ret's  attention  in  the  foregoing  manner.  "  I  jest  come  to 
wish  you  a  Happy  New- Year's,  an'  to  say  that  I'm  much 
obleeged  fer  them  mittins  an'  that  ar  comforter  you  give  me. 
They'll  come  mighty  handy  when  I'm  drivin'  round  in  the 
cold." 

"I'm  sure  I  hope  they  will,  Jotham,"  answered  Margaret. 
"  I  wish  you  a  Happy  New-Year,  too." 

Jotham  looked  rather  sheepish  at  finding  all  eyes  directed 
to  himself,  but  still  maintained  his  ground  with  a  reasonable 
degree  of  confidence,  adding,  after  a  little  pause,  "  an'  ther 
ain't  nobody  much  pleaseder  ter  see  you  round  ag'in  nor  I  be  ;" 
when  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  shut  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Aunty  ! "  cried  Jack  soon  after,  from  the  window 
where  he  sat  looking  at  one  of  the  books  that  Mrs.  Davis  had 
sent  to  him  and  George,  "  here's  Mr.  Skinner ! " 

"  Oh,  it  isn't  possible,"  cried  Fanny,  wondering  what  the 
elegant  Dr.  Doane  would  think  of  their  having  such  an  out 
landish  visitor. 

"  Good ! "  cried  Dr.  Somers, "  that's  capital ; "  and  he  fairly 
rubbed  his  hands  with  glee. 

Margaret  looked  at  him  deprecatingly,  but  he  only  rubbed 
his  hands  the  more,  going  to  the  window  to  see  for  himself. 

"  Margaret,  your  friend  is  handsomer  than  ever — though 
both  he  and  his  horse  have  the  appearance  of  not  having 
been  to  dinner." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  that  poor  old  horse,"  said  Margaret ; 
"  and  Georgie,  here's  a  chance  for  us  to  return  good  for  evil. 


A   STOEY   OF   LIFE   IN    A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  93 

Run  and  tell  Jotham  to  give  Mm  a  good  dinner,  but  do  not 
ride  him  yourself  this  time." 

"  That's  right,"  cried  the  doctor,  "  to  be  sure  !  and  here 
comes  his  master ;  you  must  be  as  good  to  him.  Love  me, 
love  my  horse,"  and  he  opened  the  door  for  Mr.  Skinner. 

"  Come  in,  sir,  come  in.  How  do  you  do  ?  Happy  New- 
Year  to  you."  Mr.  Skinner  came  in  with  his  accustomed 
deliberation,  and  in  the  course  of  half  a  minute  had  bestowed 
a  scrutinizing  glance  upon  every  one  in  the  room,  while  the 
doctor  stood  by,  ready  to  offer  him  a  chair. 

Then  having  set  his  hat  down,  and  taken  off  his  gloves, 
he  shook  hands  with  each  one,  and  hoped  he  saw  them  well. 
When  that  solemn  duty  was  performed,  he  seated  himself  in 
the  chair  the  doctor  had  placed  for  him,  near  Margaret. 

"  We  are  enjoying  quite  a  spell  of  weather,  sister  Crosby," 
he  remarked,  spreading  his  hands  out  to  the  warmth  of  the 
fire. 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret,  "it  has  been  very  cold  for  some 
time." 

Up  to  this  time,  Mr.  Skinner  had  worn  a  woollen  muffler, 
that  very  nearly  concealed  his  head,  and  his  voice  came  from 
its  folds  with  a  most  peculiar  effect.  But  finding  that  the 
fire  made  it  superfluous,  he  gradually  unwound  it,  and  hung 
it  on  the  back  of  his  chair. 

"  It's  rather  cold  rid  in',"  he  remarked,  casting  a  sidelong 
glance  at  the  table,  set  back  against  the  wall,  and  examining 
the  floor  carefully,  gave  a  loud  cough. 

"  I've  ben  riclin'  sence  early  breakfast-time,  barrin  a  stop 
I  was  obligated  to  make  nigh  onto  a  mile  from  this  juncture. 
One  of  the  runners  come  off  of  my  cutter,  and  I  was  obleeged 
to  have  it  put  on  afore  I  could  proceed  hither." 

"  What  an  unfortunate  circumstance,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  detention,  you  would  have  been 
here  in  time  for  dinner !  It  would  be  cruel  to  tell  you  of  all 
the  good  things  we  had,  such  as  turkey,  chicken  pie,  and  plum- 
pudding." 

With. every  word  the  doctor  uttered,  Mr.  Skinner's  face 


94  MARGABET  t 

grew  blanker,  and  when  he  mentioned  plum-pudding,  h" 
dropped  his  head  forward,  drew  his  feet  from  under  his  chair 
to  a  horizontal  position  in  front  of  him,  and  rested  his  hands 
on  his  knees. 

"It's  a  most  mysterious  dispensation,"  he  said,  shaking 
his  head  mournfully.  "I  "borryed  that  cutter  because  it  was 
small,  and  I  thought  it  would  run  slicker  an'  spryer  than  a 
bigger  one." 

"  Well,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  doctor  cheerfully,  "  we  live 
and  learn  in  this  world  ;  and  most  things  are  learned  by  expe 
rience.  This  morning's  experience  will  teach  you  that  there's 
many  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip,  if  nothing  more." 

Mr.  Skinner  did  not  seem  to  think  that  a  particularly 
pleasant  or  desirable  lesson  to  learn,  and  seemed  so  utterly 
cast  down,  that  Margaret  took  pity  on  him,  in  spite  of  the 
mischievous  glances  from  the  doctor's  eye. 

"  It  isn't  too  late  for  you  to  have  some  dinner  now,  Mr. 
Skinner,  if  you  won't  mind  its  being  cold." 

"  Mr.  Skinner,  what  a  favored  mortal  you  are,"  said  Dr. 
Somers. 

But  Mr.  Skinner  was  too  ecstatic  for  words ;  he  could 
only  stretch  his  mouth  into  a  smile,  and  look  at  Margaret,  as 
she  bade  Jack  ask  Miss  Patty  to  get  something  ready  for 
Mr.  Skinner  as  soon  as  she  could.  And  there  he  sat,  his 
hands  and  feet  shuffling  nervously,  as  he  watched  the  prepa 
rations  for  his  repast, seating  himself  at  the  table  when  it  was 
ready ;  and,  nothing  daunted  by  being  the  only  one  so  occu 
pied,  he  fell  to  eating  most  industriously. 

When  his  hunger  was  fully  appeased,  he  lifted  his  eyes 
from  his  plate  and  gazed  around  the  room.  The  doctor  was 
showing  Dr.  Doane  and  Fanny  and  the  boys  some  puzzles, 
and  tricks  with  strings;  and  Margaret, sitting  by  the  fire 
watching  them,  having  forgotten  Mr.  Skinner's  presence 
for  the  time,  was  somewhat  startled  when  he  seated  him 
self  at  a  little  distance,  and  leaning  towards  her,  gave  a  pre 
monitory  cough.  His  good  dinner  had  cheered  him  so,  that 
he  felt  ready  for  any  daring  deed,  and  he  had  one  in  mind. 


A   STORY    OF   LIFE   IN    A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  95 

"  Miss  Crosby  " — here  he  placed  his  hand  over  his  mouth 
and  coughed  again — "  Miss  Crosby,  I  have  come  here  to-day 
with  a  specified  object  in  view,  and,  with  your  permission,  I 
will  state  it  at  wonst."  He  did  not  wait  for  her  permission, 
but  proceeded. 

"You  doubtless  remember  a  former  occasion,  upon  which 
I  proffered  to  you  my  hand  and  heart.  I  have  given  the  sub 
ject  careful  consideration,  and  have  arrived  at  the  inference 
that  you  acted  unadwisedly ;  wherefore  I  have  come  here  this 
first  day  of  the  new  year,  having  previously  informed  our 
mutooal  friend,  Dr.  Somers,  to  give  you  a  opportunity  to  re- 
track  your  decision  ;  and  here  and  now  I  lay  my  hand,  my 
heart,  my  possessions,  at  your  feet." 

Margaret  had  glanced  several  times  at  the  group  in  the 
other  end  of  the  room,  but  they  were  all  busy  with  the  puz 
zles,  and  Dr.  Somers  looked  innocently  absorbed  and  uncon 
scious.  She  was  about  to  speak,  but  Mr.  Skinner  interrupted 
her,  saying  solemnly : 

"  Let  me  forewarn  you  to  act  with  due  deliberation.  It 
is  not  a  or'nary  post  which  I  proffer  to  you ;  I  may  say  it  is 
a  influential  one,  and  this  is  the  last  time !  This  very  arter- 
noon  I  start  on  my  way  to  a  neighborhood  where  there  is  a 
widow !  with  property !  and  I  shall  put  up  with  her  while  I 
hold  meetin's,  and  though  she  may  not  have  the  personal 
ad  wantages  of  some,  and  I  don't  say  that  she  has,  there  is  a 
inducement.  So  consider  well."  ^  . 

"Mr.  Skinner,"  said  Margaret  in  a  low  voice,  but  with  a 
dignity  that  even  he  felt,  "  I  wish  to  hear  no  more  on  this 
subject.  Once  and  for  all,  I  refuse  your  '  proffer,'  and  re 
quest  that  you  will  never  renew  it."  Then  she  said,  in  ordina 
ry  tones,  "Perhaps  you  would  be  interested  to  see  Dr.  Sotn- 
ers'  puzzles,"  and  rose  to  join  her  friends.  The  bewildered  Mr. 
Skinner  followed,  and  Dr.  Somers  at  once  addressed  his  con 
versation  to  him ;  but  he  soon  showed  signs  of  uneasiness, 

'  O 

and  presently  went  for  his  hat,  saying  that  he  must  travel  as 
far  as  Jonesville  that  day  to  return  his  cutter,  and  borrow 
another  for  the  rest  of  his  journey.  His  horse  was  accord- 


96  MABGARET. 

ingly  brought,  and  having  shaken  hands  with  all,  he  went 
out. 

"  Oh,  look ! "  cried  George,  "  if  that  isn't  funny ! " 

It  was  a  very  funny  picture — Mr.  Skinner  in  a  little  box 
of  a  sleigh,  with  so  low  a  seat,  and  so  small  a  space  in  front 
of  it,  that  his  knees  were  as  high  as  his  chin,  while  his  angu 
lar  horse  towered  above  him,  so  close  to  the  dashboard  that 
he  nearly  kicked  it  at  every  step  he  took. 

The  afternoon  passed  quickly  and  merrily,  and  the  two 
doctors  went  away — Dr.  Somers  having  sent  Margaret,  up 
stairs  in  Miss  Patty's  charge,  and  Dr.  Doane  having  prom 
ised  to  come  to  tea  the  next  day. 

Margaret  was  tired,  but  it  was  a  comfortable  tiredness, 
as  she  told  her  father  and  Miss  Patty.  She  had  really 
enjoyed  the  day.  The  coming  of  a  new  character  into  the 
narrow  circle  of  their  lives  was  very  pleasant  to  Margaret, 
and  she  found  herself,  according  to  her  old  fashion,  making 
an  estimate  of  Dr.  Doane,  subject  to  changes  when  she  should 
know  him  better. 

How  many  times  poor  Chloe  had  been  in  her  thoughts 
through  the  day,  and  what  a  weight  it  would  have  taken 
from  her  heart  if  she  could  have  known  that  she  had  escaped 
from  her  captors  and  was  in  a  safe  haven  I 


CHAPTER  X. 

For  while  he  wrought  with  strenuous  will 

The  work  his  hands  had  found  to  do, 
He  heard  the  fitful  music  still, 

Of  winds  that  out  of  dream-land  blew.        WHITTIER. 

A  PICTURE  of  the  silent,  sky-bound  prairies,  in  their  un 
trodden  winter  whiteness,  was  in  Robert  Russell's  mind,  in 
contrast  with  the  turmoil  of  New  York,  with  its  snow  black 
ened  by  the  tread  of  many  feet,  as  he  entered  his  counting- 
house  the  Monday  morning  after  his  return  from  St.  Louis. 

"  Good  morning,  Russell,  I'm  glad  to  see  you  back. 
When  did  you  come  in  ?  " 

"Saturday  night,"  answered  Mr.  Russell,  as  he  and  his 
partner,  Mr.  Kent,  walked  back  to  the  office. 

"  Did  your  sister  return  with  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  leave  St.  Louis 
at  present.  All  her  husband's  friends  are  there,  you  know," 
replied  Mr.  Russell,  taking  up  a  pile  of  letters  that  lay  on 
his  desk. 

"  See  if  there  is  a  letter  among  those  from  old  Mr.  Tap- 
scott,"  said  Mr.  Kent.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  has  ap 
pealed  to  you,  as  he  found  me  unmanageable." 

"  Is  he  still  in  trouble  ? "  asked  Mr.  Russell,  looking  for 
Mr.  Tapscott's  handwriting. 

"  He  is  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy,"  answered  Mr.  Kent, 
"  and  he  has  been  begging  us  to  renew  the  note  we  hold 
against  him,  which,  of  course,  is  outxxtthe  question." 

"  The  note  is  nearly  due,  is  ilPZfol  ?  " 

"  The  thirty-first — to-day,"  answered  Mr.  Kent. 

"  He  says  that  we  are  his  first  and  largest  creditors," 
said  Mr.  Russell,  reading  Mr.  Tapscott's  letter.  '  "lie  thinks 
he  could  meet  his  other  liabilities,  and  weather  the  storm,  if 
we  would  favor  him  a  little." 


98  MAEGAKET : 

"  I  have  heard  that  story  several  times  since  you  went 
away." 

"  And  did  not  think  it  best  to  heed  it  ?  " 

"  No ;  of  course  not,"  replied  Mr.  Kent,  with  some 
asperity.  "  I  can't  see  why  we  should  grant  him  .such  a 
favor,  any  more  than  any  other  of  the  five  hundred  men  who 
get  involved  in  the  course  of  a  year." 

"  Mr.  Tapscott  is  an  old  man — he  must  be  nearly  seventy 
— and  I  do  not  know  of  a  sadder  sight  than  an  old  man  left 
penniless,  and  obliged  to  begin  life  again  after  forty  or  fifty 
years  of  hard  work.  He  was  an  old  business  friend  of  my 
father's,  and  I  have  known  something  about  him  in  that  way. 
He  failed  some  twenty  years  ago,  through  indorsing  for  his 
son-in-law,  Mr.  Yentnor ;  and  since  Mr.  Ventnor's  death  he 
has  had  his  widow  and  three  of  her  children  to  support ;  I 
believe  the  eldest  son  takes  care  of  himself.  Besides  that, 
his  wife  is  an  invalid ;  so,  you  see,  there  are  special  reasons 
for  favoring  him." 

"  Then  you  approve  the  extension  of  that  note  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Kent,  looking  extremely  annoyed. 

"  I  do,  most  assuredly,"  replied  Mr.  Russell,  "  but  I  will 
not  involve  the  firm  in  this  thing.  I  will  indorse  the  note, 
and  if  it  does  not  save  Mr.  Tapscott,  I  will  be  the  only  loser. 
But  I  know  that  he  is  an  honorable  man,  and  will  do  the  best 
he  can  by  all  his  creditors." 

Both  gentlemen  turned  to  their  desks.  Soon  after,  the 
door  opened,  and  Mr.  Tapscott  himself  entered  the  office. 
He  came  with  painful  hesitation,  an  apology  for  intruding 
in  his  very  look  and  manner ;  his  face  was  pale  and  haggard, 
and  he  seemed  almost  too  weak  to  stand.  Mr.  Russell 
hastened  to  greet  him  and  offer  him  a  chair,  and  Mr.  Tapscott 
essayed  to  speak,  but  his  lips  refused  to  utter  a  word. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are  having  trouble  in  your 
business,"  said  Mr.  Russell ;  "  but  if  a  friendly  hand  can  hold 
you  up  till  you  find  -your  footing  again,  mine  shall  not  be 
withheld  from  my  father's  old  friend.  Mr.  Kent,  may  I 
trouble  you  for  that  note  ?  " 


A    STOKY    OF    LITE    IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  99 

Mr.  Russell  was  the  senior  partner,  and  besides,  uobody 
ever  questioned  his  measures  when  his  mind  was  mude  up. 
So  Mr.  Kent  moodily  handed  him  the  paper.  Going  to  his 
desk,  he  made  out  a  new  note,  giving  Mr.  Tapscott  all  the 
time  he  desired,  and  then  handed  it  to  him  to  sign,  after 
which  Mr.  Russell  placed  his  own  name  on  the  back  of  it, 
and  put  it  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Kent.  The  old  man  had  been 
like  one  in  a  dream,  his  eyes  never  moving  from  Mr.  Russell ; 
but  when  he  saw  Mr.  Russell's  signature,  and  received  the 
cancelled  note,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  trembling  hands  and 
sobbed  aloud.  Mr.  Russell  turned  away  to  give  him  time  to 
recover  himself,  which  he  soon  did;  but  as  he  wrung  his 
benefactor's  hand,  before  leaving  the  office,  he  could  only 
utter,  "  God  bless  you !  " 

After  a  short  silence,  Mr.  Kent  said :  "  If  I  should  see 
any  other  man  but  Robert  Russell  do  such  a  Quixotic  thing, 
I  should  set  him  down  as  lacking  common  sense ;  and  I 
wouldn't  trust  him  with  a  business  transaction  involving  a 
hundred  dollars." 

"  I  am  glad  you  grant  me  the  possession  of  a  little  of 
that  valuable  commodity,  in  spite  of  my  Quixotic  deeds," 
said  Mr.  Russell  pleasantly. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "  a  man  came  here,  two  or 
three  days  ago,  to  see  you  about  your  tenement-houses." 

"  You  mention  my  tenement-houses  in  rather  a  disrespect 
ful  connection,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  smiling.  "  I  suppose  I  am 
to  infer  that  you  consider  them  another  of  my  foolish 
schemes." 

"I  must  confess  that  I  do  think  it  rather  an  eccentric 
investment  for  a  man  of  your  sagacity." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say  that  I  look  for  large  profits  at  present ; 
but  I  am  confident  I  shall  not  be  a  loser  in  the  end ;  "  and 
Mr.  Russell  returned  to  his  desk,  and  for  the  next  few  hours 
his  clear-sighted,  absorbed  attention  was  given  to  business. 

Only  one  little  interruption  occurred.  In  the  course  of 
the  morning,  one  of  the  clerks  came  to  his  desk. 

"Mr.  Russell,  that  little  Italian  girl  is  here,  and  seems 


100  MARGAEET I 

very  anxious  to  see  you.  Shall  I  tell  her  that  you  are  en 
gaged?" 

"  No ;  I  will  come  to  her  directly,"  he  answered,  laying 
down  his  pen. 

"  Well,  Angelica,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the  hand  of  a  little 
girl  who  stood  near  the  outer  dooi',  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 
How  are  your  mother,  and  Paul,  and  the  little  ones  ?  " 

"  Mother  and  the  little  ones  are  very  well,"  she  replied  in 
a  sweet  voice,  "  but  Paul  is  feeling  very  bad,  and  wants  to  see 
you,  sir ;  and  mother  said  I  might  come  and  ask  you  if  you 
couldn't  call  to-day ; "  and  she  lifted  her  soft,  dark  eyes  to 
Mr.  Russell's  face  pleadingly. 

"  Is  Paul  really  worse,  do  you  think  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  answered  the  child,  "  only  he  felt  very 
ill  Saturday,  and  I  came  to  tell  you  about  it ;  he  said  he 
should  feel  better  if  he  could  see  you,  but  you  were  not  here ; 
and  when  I  told  him  you  were  to  be  at  home  to-day,  he  kept 
begging  mother  to  let  me  come  again,  till  she  did,  though 
she  said  she  knew  you  would  be  very  busy,  after  being  gone 
so  long." 

"  I  am  very  busy  this  morning,  Angelica,  but  I  am  glad 
you  came,  and  I  will  see  Paul  this  afternoon.  Tell  him  that 
I  am  coming." 

The  little  girl  thanked  him  with  her  eyes,  and  hurried 
home,  while  he  went  back  to  his  work. 

When  Mr.  Russell  returned  from  China,  having  established 
a  prosperous  branch  of  the  New-York  house,  which  he  left 
in  charge  of  his  brother,  every  body  thought  he  would  retire 
from  business,  and  enjoy  his  fortune  in  elegant  leisure;  and 
every  body  was  surprised  to  find  that  he  remained  in  the 
firm,  and  went  every  day  to  the  counting-house.  He  did  not 
love  idleness,  and  knew  that  he  should  find  more  opportuni 
ties  for  doing  good,  in  his  own  peculiar  way,  as  an  active 
member  of  the  great  world,  than  in  the  comparative  seclu 
sion  of  a  man  of  leisure.  Besides,  he  desired  to  add  to  his 
fortune,  that  he  might  have  the  more  to  use  as  opportunities 
for  using  it  opened  before  him. 

One  of  his  favorite  projects  was,  to  provide  respectable 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE   HOME.  101 

homes  for  such  poor  people  as  3ame  especially  under  his 
notice,  and  a  block  of  comfortable,  convenient  houses,  waa 
already  completed  in  a  respectable  part  of  the  city.  To  these 
he  bent  his  steps  when  he  left  the  office,  late  in  the  after 
noon  ;  for  Angelica's  mother  had  been  the  first  to  enjoy 
the  comfort  of  a  change  from  close  rooms  in  crowded  tene 
ments,  where  eyes  and  ears  shrunk  appalled  from  the  sights 
and  sounds  that  greeted  them,  to  the  airy,  cheerful  apart 
ments  of  Mr.  Russell's  planning. 

One  day,  not  very  long  after  Mr.  Russell's  return  to 
America,  a  little  girl  came  into  his  office,  admitted  by  one 
of  the  clerks,  and  timidly  showed  him  a  small  oil-painting, 
which  she  wished  to  sell.  Mr.  Russell  saw  that  the  picture 
had  real  merit,  and  was  struck  with  the  child's  delicate 
beauty.  Encouraged  by  his  evident  interest,  she  confided 
to  him  that  her  father  was  dead — that  her  mother  took  in 
sewing,  and  she  crocheted,  and  made  nets,  and  that  was  all 
they  had  to  live  on.  There  were  five  of  them,  since  her 
father  died,  and  her  brother  Paul  was  sick  with  a  cough  and 
a  pain  in  his  chest.  It  was  he  who  had  painted  the  picture, 
at  little  times  Avhen  he  could  sit  up.  Mr.  Russell  bought  the 
picture,  and  asked  the  little  girl  to  come  again  the  next  day 
to  tell  him  if  her  mother  was  willing  to  have  him.  call  and 
see  them,  as  he  would  like  to  talk  with  Paul  about  his  paint 
ing.  He  never  knew  what  glowing  descriptions  Angelica 
gave  her  mother  and  Paul  of  the  kind  gentleman  who  paid 
so  much  money  for  the  painting.  But  when  she  came  the 
next  day,  he  walked  home  Avith  her,  and  from  that  time  had 
been  Mrs.  Sarelli's  kind,  helpful  friend,  and  the  joy  of  Paul's 
hitherto  tedious  life. 

Mr.  Sarelli  was  an  Italian  artist,  of  real  genius,  but  un 
known  and  without  friends  in  America,  whither  he  came 
with  his  young  English  wife,  lured  by  glowing  anticipations 
of  the  fame  he  should  win  through  his  beloved  art,  and  the 
happy  home  he  should  make  for  her  who  had  forsaken  all  for 
him.  His  bright  dreams  quickly  faded  before  the  bitter 
reality ;  and  after  years  of  painful  struggling  against  the 


102  MAEGAEET : 

approach  of  want  and  distress  to  his  loved  ones,  he  laid 
down  his  brushes  and  pallette — poor  little  powerless  weapons, 
when  they  are  wielded  by  the  obscure  and  friendless — and 
died,  leaving  to  his  oldest  child  the  sad  inheritance  of  his 
genius  and  his  delicate  constitution. 

Mrs.  Sarelli  had  no  resource  but  her  needle,  and  her  ut 
most  industry,  together  with  little  Angelica's  small  earnings, 
made  but  a  slender  purse  for  the  supply  of  life's  necessities 
to  the  five.  The  first  winter  after  her  husband's  death  had 
been  a  severe  one,  and  she  was  glad  that  Paul  could  cherish 
the  fond  hope  of  adding  something  to  their  scanty  store,  by 
staying  at  home  and  painting ;  for  with  an  aching  heart  she 
heard  the  dreaded  cough,  and  saw  that  his  cheeks  often  wore 
a  feverish  flush.  One  or  two  little  pictures  were  finished, 
and  pronounced  perfect  by  the  loving  eyes  of  his  mother  and 
Angelica,  and  sold  by  one  or  the  other,  after  painful  efforts, 
for  a  mere  pittance.  Then  there  were  only  materials  left, 
of  what  had  remained  of  his  father's  small  store,  for  one 
more  picture,  and  no  money  to  spare,  as  Paul  knew,  when  they 
were  used.  Long  and  patiently  he  worked  on  that  last  bit 
of  canvas,  and  when  he  had  touched  it  and  retouched  it, 
lingering  over  it  as  one  lingers  by  a  friend  whom  he  is  to 
bid  good-by  forever,  he  gave  it  into  Angelica's  hands. 

His  sacrifice  was  repaid  a  thousandfold  in  the  friendship 
of  Mr.  Russell,  though  he  had  seldom  been  able  to  use  the 
complete  supply  of  materials  given  him  by  that  kind  friend 
on  his  fifteenth  birthday. 

When  Mr.  Russell  knocked  at  their  door,  Angelica 
opened  it.  Mrs.  Sarelli  hastened  to  welcome  him,  and  two 
little  figures  came  flying  across  the  room,  seizing  his  hands, 
and  dancing  up  and  down  at  his  side  as  he  walked  towards 
the  couch  where  Paul  lay,  his  dark  eyes  glowing,  and  his 
cheeks  burning  with  the  excitoment  of  seeing  his  friend  once 
more.  The  little  ones  clung  to  his  hands  till  he  stooped  and 
kissed  them — Edith,  with  her  mother's  golden  hair  and  blue 
eyes,  and  little  Mary,  like  the  rest,  with  her  father's  Italian 
beauty.  Then  they  danced  back  to  their  play,  leaving  Mr. 


A    STORY  OF   LIFE   IN    A   PEAIUIE    HOME.  103 

Russell  to  sit  down  by  Paul,  and  hear  all  he  had  been  doing 
and  thinking  since  he  had  been  away. 

"  I  shall  be  well  again,  now  you  have  come  back,"  said 
the  boy,  after  they  had  talked  awhile.  "  I  think  I  shall  be 
able  to  paint  in  a  few  days,  and  I  have  such  a  lovely  idea  for 
a  picture ;  I  do  hope  I  can  sketch  it  before  it  fades  from  my 
mind.  But  I  don't  know  what  I  am  to  do  about  the  sky.  I 
want  a  wide  stretch  of  blue  sky,  with  those  piles  of  snowy 
clouds,  just  changing  to  crimson,  that  I  remember  to  have 
seen  long  ago ;  but  I'm  afraid  I  sha'n't  succeed  in  that.  I 
wonder  if  I  ever  shall  see  much  sky  at  a  time  again  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  keep  the  idea  in  your  mind  tilt 
summer  comes  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell ;  "  because  then  I  mean 
to  have  you  see  a  great  deal  of  sky,  and  green  grass,  and 
trees  and  flowers,  and  all  the  beautiful  things  to  be  found  in 
the  country." 

Pr*ul  looked  at  him  with  his  heart  in  his  eyes,  and  An 
gelica  and  her  mother  dropped  their  work  in  their  laps,  to 
wonder  what  Mr.  Russell  could  mean. 

"  I  did  not  intend  to  mention  my  plan  so  soon,"  he  said, 
smiling  at  Paul,  "  but  I  think,  after  all,  you  might  as  Avell 
have  two  pleasxires  as  one;  and  I  do  not  think  the  reality  will 
be  any  the  less  a  pleasure  for  your  having  that  of  anticipa 
tion.  About  fifteen  miles  from  here,  on  a  little  hill,  stands  a 
little  cottage,  with  a  little  yard  in  front,  and  a  little  garden 
behind ;  with  a  view  of  the  river  and  fields  and  woods 
beyond,  where  the  sun  sets,  sometimes  in  crimson  and  gold, 
sometimes  in  purple  and  gray,  sometimes  in  yellow  and  pale 
green ;  and  there  are  no  red  brick  walls  on  any  side,  to  shut 
out  the  view  of  the  sky.  The  little  house  is  occupied  now 
by  somebody  that  I  do  not  know  ;  but  I  do  know  the  people 
who  will  be  living  there  before  the  roses  blossom  in  June." 

Not  a  word  was  spoken,  but  something  very  like  a  sob 
came  from  Mrs.  Sarelli,  and  Angelica's  face  was  hid  in  her 
mother's  lap. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Paul  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell.  "  Will 
you  be  patient  till  that  time  comes,  and  keep  your  sky- 


104:  MARGARET  I 

pictures  till  you  can  sit  in  the  sunshine,  and  paint  the  livelong 
day  ?  " 

Paul  pressed  Mr.  Russell's  hand  first  to  his  lips  and  then 
to  his  heart,  and  gazed  into  his  face  with  his  eyes  fail  of 
happy  tears. 

Mr.  Russell  glanced  at  a  pile  of  shirts  that  lay  on  a  chair 
near  him,  and  said,  "  I  will  send  Patrick  for  those  on 
Wednesday,  Mrs.  Sarelli,  as  to-morrow  is  New- Year's  day." 

It  was  not  the  least  of  the  many  acts  of  kindness  that 
tilled  Mrs.  Sarelli's  heart  with  gratitude  to  her  friend,  that  he 
spared  her  the  contact  with  ungracious  employers ;  but  this 
day  her  heart  was  too  full  for  words. 

As  Mr.  Russell  rose  to  go,  Paul  drew  him  down,  and 
whispered,  "  I  have  learned  that  chapter,  and  it  has  been  the 
sweetest  comfort  to  me  since  I  have  been  sick  this  time.  I 
don't  think  I  could  have  been  patient  without  it." 

Mr.  Russell  whispered  a  few  words  of  encouragement, 
and  then  said  good-by ;  but  that  same  evening  came  a  knock 
at  the  door,  and  a  package  was  brought  in,  containing  a 
New- Year's  dinner,  and  some  useful  present  for  each. 

The  street-lamps  were  lighted  when  Mr.  Russell  reached 
home.  His  house  was  not  very  far  up-town.  It  was  the 
same  old-fashioned,  red  brick  house  that  his  father  had  built, 
when  that  part  of  the  city  was  considered  quite  in  the 
country ;  where  he  and  his  brother  and  sister  had  been  born, 
and  had  grown  up ;  where  his  mother  had  died  suddenly, 
soon  after  his  departure  for  China,  and  where  his  sister  had 
been  married. 

His  sister  had  lived  at  home  after  her  marriage,  until  her 
husband's  business  called  him  to  St.  Louis.  Her  father  was 
too  much  attached  to  his  old  home  to  leave  it  and  go  with 
her,  as  she  earnestly  wished,  and  he  lived  on  with  his  old  ser 
vants,  who  had  been  so  long  in  the  house  as  to  seem  a  part 
of  it.  His  health  failed  soon,  and  he  felt  that  he  must 
have  one  of  his  sons  at  home,  to  lean  upon  in  his  old  age. 
Robert  came  at  once,  and  his  father  lived  only  a  month  after 
his  return.  Now  he  was  alone,  and  the  great  house  had  a 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE   HOME.  105 

dreary,  deserted  air,  in  spite  of  Janet's  efforts  to  make  it 
cheerful.  Memories  of  loved  ones  gone  to  their  rest,  and 
old  times  and  old  friends,  met  him  at  every  turn,  forcing 
him,  while  at  home,  to  live  more  in  the  past  than  in  the 
present. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Robert,"  was  his  old  housekeeper's  greeting, 
"  I  don't  suppose  you'll  be  sirrprised  to  find  your  dinner 
spoiled  and  stone-cold." 

"  I  should  be  surprised  to  find  it  stone-cold,  Janet.  You 
would  not  have  the  heart  to  treat  me  so  badly  as  that." 

"  I  don't  know,  Mr.  Robert ;  it's  an  unheard-of  circum 
stance  for  a  member  of  the  Russell  family  to  be  late  to 
dinner  ; "  and  old  Janet  shook  her  head. 

"  You  will  have  to  forgive  me  this  once,  Janet,  and  let  me 
have  my  dinner  this  minute,  for  I  am  very  hungry." 

"  Mr.  Robert,"  said  Janet,  reluctantly,  "  I  suppose  I  ought 
to  tell  you  that  there's  a  person  in  the  parlor  waiting  to  see 
you ;  I  don't  presume  that  she'd  much  like  to  wait  till  you've 
been  to  dinner." 

"  Is  it  a  lady  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell,  in  surprise. 

"  I  suppose  she's  a  lady,  or  Reuben  wouldn't  have  put  her 
in  the  drawing-room,"  answered  Janet  to  herself,  for  Mr. 
Russell  had  hastened  to  see  his  guest. 

As  he  entered  the  drawing-room,  a  tall  woman  came 
briskly  forward  to  meet  him,  with  little  mincing  steps,  quite 
out  of  keeping  with  her  unusual  height.  Her  dress  was  an 
odd  mixture  of  colors  and  styles,  the  prevailing  effect  being 
dowdiness.  She  had  a  large  worsted  bag  upon  her  arm,  and 
a  pair  of  soiled,  crumpled  kid  gloves  on  her  hands. 

"  Have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Mr.  Robert  Russell  ?  " 
she  asked,  laying  one  hand  on  the  bag. 

Mr.  Russell  bowed. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Sophronia  Brower,"  she  said,  with  a  curtsey, 
scnting  herself,  and  reaching  out  for  a  little  mosaic  stand, 
which  she  placed  before  her,  as  if  she  were  about  to  deliver 
a  lecture  from  behind  it. 

"  It  is  rather  an  unseasonable  hour  for  females  to  be  out, 
5* 


106  MAKGAEET  I 

but  the  man  at  the  door  informed  me  that  you  would  soott 
return,  and  I  have  been  waiting  in  momentary  expectation. 
My  business  is  important,  as  you  will  admit,  when  I  state  it, 
which  I  will  do  at  once,  as  my  time  is  precious."  And  she 
proceeded  to  open  her  bag. 

Mr.  Russell  thought  of  his  dinner,  and  approved  of  her 
intention. 

"  The  name  of  Robert  Russell  is  one  which,  wherever 
seen,  must  command  the  attention  and  win  the  confidence 
of  every  person,  male  and  female,  far  and  wide ;  and  there 
fore  I  come  to  him  to  lead  the  van — to  head  a  list  of  illustri 
ous  names  that  are  about  to  commence  a  glorious  work ;  in 
short,  a  crusade  against  ignorance,  vice,  and  barbarity — to 
sow  a  seed  that  shall  speedily  grow  into  a  tree,  that  will 
overshadow  the  earth  with  its  benign  branohes — to  kindle  a 
spark  that  will  soon  illumine  the  moral,  as  the  sun  now 
illumines  the  material  world  ! " 

She  paused  to  gain  breath,  and  having  taken  from  her 
bag  and  unrolled  a  paper  at  least  two  yards  long — blank 
except  at  the  top — she  held  it  off  at  arms-length : 

"  What  a  scroll  upon  which  to  engrave  one's  name ! 
Ah,  that  I  were  in  the  place  of  him  for  whom  is  reserved 
the  honor  of  heading  that  glorious  tablet !  "  She  gazed  at 
it  in  rapt  admiration  a  moment,  and  then  said : 

"  I  know  I  have  only  to  name  the  august  Society  whose 
unworthy  servant  I  am,  in  order  to  elicit  your  warm  sympa 
thy  and  ardent  cooperation.  It  is  '  The  Society  for  the  Dif 
fusion  of  the  Knowledge  of  the  Arts  and  Sciences  and  Polite 
Literature  among  the  Heathen.' " 

Mr.  Russell  smiled,  but  shook  his  head  as  his  visitor, 
auguring  well  for  her  scroll,  held  it  towards  him. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,"  he  said,  "  but  I  cannot 
give  you  my  name." 

"  Am  I  to  understand  that  you  refuse  to  countenance  so 
glorious  an  object  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Brower. 

"The  object  seems  to  me  rather  chimerical  than  glo« 
rious." 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE   HOME.  107 

"And  will  you  contribute  nothing?" 

"  You  could  hardly  expect  me  to  contribute  to  any  thing 
of  which  I  disapprove." 

"  I  have  heard  that  you  discountenance  all  benevolent 
societies,"  said  Mrs.  Brower,  severely. 

"  I  very  sincerely  approve  of  really  benevolent  societies, 
and  if  yours  was  one  for  sending  missionaries  to  the  heathen, 
or  giving  them  the  Bible,  I  would  willingly  contribute, 
though  I  have  no  ambition  to  put  my  name  to  long  papers." 

"  You  may  live,"  said  Mrs.  Brower,  solemnly,  rising  and 
rolling  up  her  scroll, "  to  see  that  the  surest  way  to  enlighten 
the  heathen  mind,  and  prepare  it  to  appreciate  the  emblems 
and  figures  of  the  sacred  writers,  is  to  teach  them  to  appre 
ciate  the  grand  and  beautiful  in  art  and  nature  and  profane 
literature ; "  and  securing  her  roll,  she  prepared  to  depart. 

"  I  think  the  truths  of  the  Bible  the  means  for  enlighten 
ing  and  saving  men,  whether  they  are  heathens  or  nominally 
Christians;"  and  Mr.  Russell  bowed  Mrs.  Brower  and  her 
bag  out  of  the  door. 

After  dinner,  which  Janet  had  kept  hot,  notwithstanding 
her  intimation  to  the  contrary,  Mr.  Russell  retired  to  his  sanc 
tum.  This  room  had  been  his  especial  retreat  almost  since 
he  could  remember,  and  had  fewer  haunting  presences  than 
any  other  in  the  house.  Its  coloring  was  warm,  and  there, 
with  the  curtains  drawn,  the  drop-light  shaded,  and  a  blazing 
fire  in  the  grate,  to  cast  ruddy  gleams  over  the  carpet  and 
walls,  he  spent  many  happy  hours,  when  he  was  conscious  of 
no  present  and  no  past — only  of  the  charm  of  some  congenial 
research,  or  of  communion  with  favorite  authors. 

To-night  he  sat  musing  by  the  fire  over  the  events  of  the 
day ;  and  it  did  not  take  long  for  the  lingering  hours  of  the 
Old  Year  to  weave  around  him  their  magical  spell,  and  close 
his  senses  to  all,  save  the  pictures  which  Memory  and  Fancy 
might  conjure  up  before  him.  Ah,  Memory ! 

"  Needs  must  thou  dearly  love  thy  first  essay, 
And  foremost  in  thy  various  gallery 
Place  it,  where  sweetest  sunlight  falls 

t'p.-in  thy  storied  walls." 


108  MARGARET. 

The  scene  is  one  of  warmth  and  brightness,  the  counter* 
part  of  the  present  reality,  only  that  he  is  counting  the  lag 
gard  minutes  till  they  reach  the  appointed  hour  of  tryst ; 
and  his  mother  stands  beside  him,  her  hand  laid  lightly  on 
his  head,  Avhile  she  playfully  questions  him  as  to  Avhere  his 
thoughts  were,  that  he  did  not  hear  the  opening  door  and 
her  footfalls  on  the  carpet.  She  smiles  into  his  eyes  lovingly, 
as  she  says,  "  My  son,  give  my  dear  love  to  your  Margaret, 
and  wish  her  a  Happy  New. Year  for  me." 

Another  touch  of  Memory's  pencil  and  the  scene  is 
changed.  Margaret  sits  beside  him,  her  truthful  eyes  turned 
to  him,  and  her  hand  in  his.  He  dwells  on  the  varying  ex 
pressions  of  her  fair  face,  and  reads  the  earnest  thoughts  so 
clearly  written  upon  it.  He  tells  her  that  the  future  may  not 
all  be  bright  and  cloudless,  and  she  answers,  "I  have  no 
fear  of  what  the  years  may  bring,  while  you  walk  by  my 
side." 

,He  was  by  her  side  no  more,  as  other  pictures  came : 
where  had  her  journeyings  led  her?  and  how  had  the  years 
dealt  with  her  ?  Memory  could  not  solve  the  mystery  of 
their  parted  lives.  It  must  remain  a  mystery,  as  he  "  walked 
desolate  day  by  day."  But  in  the  Hereafter  it  would  all  be 
made  clear,  and  in  the  meantime  she  was  enshrined  in  the  in 
most  recesses  of  his  heart,  as  the  impersonation  of  every 
womanly  grace. 

Here  Fancy,  seeing  the  sober  tints  which  Memory  was 
using,  seized  her  own  brush,  and  drew  such  a  sweet  picture 
of  his  home,  as  he  had  dreamed  of  it  once,  with  Margaret  for 
its  queen,  that  he  could  have  gazed  on  the  vision  forever. 
But  the  weary  Hours,  one  by  one,  laid  by  their  wands,  drop 
ping  the  threads  of  the  magic  web  they  had  woven  around 
him,  till  not  one  was  left.  The  clock  on  the  mantel  struck 
the  death-knell  of  the  Old  Year,  and  distant  chimes  rung  in 
the  New.  The  vision  had  vanished,  leaving  him  only  ihe 
lonely  reality  of  the  present. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

The  best  laid  plans  of  mice  an'  men, 

Aft  gang  a-gley.  BURNS. 

ME.  ALEXANDER  THOENE  was  a  shipping  merchant,  well 
known  in  business  circles  as  a  successful,  honorable  man,  and 
his  wile  was  equally  well  known  and  influential  in  the  fash 
ionable  world.  Her  dinners  and  receptions  were  models  of 
taste  and  elegance,  and  their  exclusiveness  made  it  well 
worth  while  to  be  among  the  favored  few.  Besides  her  own 
charms  of  manner  and  conversation,  she  had  a  beautiful 
daughter,  whose  education  had  caused  her  much  solicitude, 
and  whose  debut,  when  her  education  was  pronounced  fin 
ished  by  her  various  masters,  had  occasioned  quite  a  sensa 
tion  in  Mrs.  Thome's  circle;  as  she  had,  with  great  wisdom, 
kept  her  carefully  secluded  till  the  suitable  time,  and  then 
brought  her  out  in  all  the  freshness  of  her  girlish  beauty, 
never  dreaming  but  that,  in  due  time,  her  career  would  be 
consummated  as  brilliantly  as  it  had  opened.  But  owing  to 
certain  perversities  of  taste  for  which,  in  view  of  her  careful 
training,  she  could  in  no  wise  account,  serious  anxieties  had 
recently  arisen  in  her  mind. 

"Alexander,"  she  said  to  her  husband  one  morning  as 
they  sat  alone  at  breakfast,  "  do  have  the  kindness  to  listen 
to  me  for  a  moment." 

"My  dear,  I  will  listen  to  you  for  several  moments,"  he 
replied,  laying  aside  his  paper,  and  proceeding  with  his 
breakfast.  "  What  have  you  to  say  to  mo  that  is  new  and 
interesting,  this  morning  ?  " 

"  You  may  not  consider  it  interesting ;  indeed,  I  often 
marvel  that  it  seems  to  interest  you  so  little,  when  to  me  it 
is  such  a  vital  subject." 

"  Oh !  "  Mr.  Thorne  ejaculated,  in  a  tone  that  showed 
him  conscious  of  what  the  vital  subject  was. 


110  MABGABET  : 

"It  is  useless  to  shut  our  eyes  and  try  not  to  admit  the 
fact.  Something  must  be  done,"  and  Mrs.  Thorn e  laid  her 
white,  shapely  hand  on  the  table,  by  way  of  emphasis; 
"something  decisive,  to  divert  Claudia's  mind  from  her  fool 
ish  penchant  for  Philip  Ventnor." 

"  If  it  is  only  a  foolish  penchant,  my  dear,  I  should  think 
it  might  be  left  to  die  a  natural  death,  as  such  things  gen 
erally  do." 

"  No,"  answered  Mrs.  Thome ;  "  it  will  not  do  to  run 
any  risk  in  this  matter.  Claudia  is  a  strange  girl,  and  if  left 
to  her  own  unguided  impulse,  I  really  believe  she  would 
marry  that  penniless  author.  She  is  actually  losing  her  in 
terest  in  society  already." 

"  Mr.  Ventnor's  being  poor  is  by  no  means  my  objection 
to  him.  Poverty  is  nothing  against  a  man  of  genius,  and 
while  I  have  an  abundance,  our  only  child  is  not  likely  to 
suffer,  even  if  she  should  marry  a  penniless  man.  But  I 
couldn't  see  Claudia  marry  a  man  whose  principles  are  un 
sound.  I  am  afraid  it  is  true  that  young  Ventnor  is  too  fond 
of  wine." 

"  And  yet  you  make  light  of  my  desire  to  break  up  the 
acquaintance." 

"  I  can't  see  the  thing  as  seriously  as  you  do,  Helen.  It 
seems  to  me  like  a  mere  girlish  fancy  for  a  brilliant,  talented 
fellow,  and  I  can't  see  the  necessity  of  making  a  tragedy  of 
it.  Why,  Claudia  is  but  a  child  yet;  she  ought  not  to  fall 
in  love  for  years." 

"  And,  pray,  how  old  must  a  girl  be  before  she  can  fall  in 
love?  It'  I  remember  rightly,  I  was  but  eighteen  when 
we  became  engaged.  But,  thank  heaven,  Claudia  has  a 
mother  who  will  not  see  her  follow  a  wayward,  girlish  fancy, 
to  her  own  destruction.  To  think  of  such  beauty  and 
accomplishments  being  thrown  away  upon  a  man  without 
wealth,  or  position,  or  name ! " 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  I  thought  it  was  pro 
verbial  that  if  a  girl  is  opposed  in  her  love-affairs  she  only 
gets  the  more  desperate." 


A   8TOUY  OF   LIFE   IN    A   PISAIRIE   HOME.  Ill 

"  Pray,  my  dear,  give  me  credit  for  a  little  discretion  in 
the  management  of  my  cbild.  My  plans  are  laid  care 
fully,  and  wisely,  as  you  will  admit  when  you  see  the 
result." 

"  Do  give  me  an  inkling  of  your  plans,"  said  her  husband, 
inwardly  amused. 

"  I  am  going  to  arouse  her  ambition." 

"  Ambition  ?  to  be  an  authoress,  or  Queen  of  England,  or 
what?" 

"  To  marry  wealth  and  a  splendid  position,"  replied  Mrs. 
Thome;  "to  win  a  prize  that  might  well  turn  any  girl's 
head  with  envy." 

"  Do  you  know  any  such  head-turning  individual  ?  I  am 
sure  I  don't,"  said  her  husband. 

"  Well,  I  do,  and  if  Claudia  possesses  one  particle  of 
spirit,  you  will  soon  see  her  proudly  wearing  the  honors  of 
the  position  I  refer  to." 

"Who  is  it,  Helen?  I  am  dying  of  curiosity,  as  the  la 
dies  say." 

"  Who  should  it  be,  but  Mr.  Robert  Russell,  the  rich 
China  merchant,  with  every  quality  of  mind  and  manner  to 
win  a  girl's  heart,  and  wealth  and  position  to  satisfy  her 
highest  ambition." 

When  Mr.  Thorne  heard  the  name  of  Robert  Russell,  he 
so  far  forgot  his  good  manners  as  to  give  a  long,  low  whis 
tle.  "  Well,  I  will  give  you  credit  for  an  unlimited  amount 
of  enterprise,  Helen.  Why,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  Clau 
dia's  wooing  a  granite  statue  from  its  pedestal  by  the  glances 
of  her  bright  eyes,  as  to  draw  that  impenetrable  man  from 
his  shell.  How  do  you  expect  to  bring  him  within  reach  of 
her  charms  ?  " 

"  Oh,  fortune  favors  the  brave,  you  know,"  answered  his 
wife  gayly.  "  Only  do  your  part  as  well  as  I  shall  mine,  and 
all  will  be  well." 

"  What  is  to  be  my  part  in  this  wonderful  drama?" 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  I  can  trust  you,  but  it  must  be  done, 
and  if  you  don't  do  it,  I  shall.  Philip  Ventnor  must  be  in- 


112  MAKGAEET : 

formed,  before  long,  that  his  attentions  to  Claudia  are  un 
welcome,  and  that  they  must  cease." 

"  And  that  is  what  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  if  you  will  ?  " 

"  I  beg  to  be  excused ;  I  will  leave  that  \o  you,"  and  Mr. 
Thome's  hitherto  smiling  face  was  decidedly  cloudy,  as  he 
bade  his  wife  good-morning. 

Mrs.  Thome  was  still  sitting  behind  the  coffee-urn,  in 
deep  thought,  when  Claudia  came  down. 

"  I  think  you  are  taking  things  quite  lazily  this  morning," 
she  said,  as  Claudia  kissed  her,  and  seated  herself  at  the 
table. 

"  I  know  it,  mamma ;  but  I  was  so  sleepy." 

"  It  wasn't  so  very  late  when  you  came  home  last  night. 
Did  you  go  at  once  to  bed  when  you  went  to  your  room  ?  " 

"  No,  mamma,  I  did  not." 

"  What  was  there  to  keep  you  up,  child  ?  " 

"  I  read  a  while,  mamma,"  answered  Claudia,  her  cheeks 
glowing  and  her  lashes  drooping. 

"  What  did  you  find  so  entertaining  as  to  keep  you  awake 
at  midnight  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Thome. 

Claudia  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  answered,  without 
lifting  her  eyes,  "  I  was  reading  Mr.  Ventnor's  last  article." 

Mrs.  Thome's  eyes  flashed.  "  It  was  very  wrong,  Clau 
dia.  Society's  claims  will  sufficiently  tax  your  strength, 
without  your  taking  hours  from  sleep  for  things  that  can  be 
done  quite  as  well  in  the  daytime.  I  am  sure  you  would  be 
sorry  to  lose  all  your  freshness  before  you  have  been  out  a 
year." 

"  Oh,  yes,  indeed,"  answered  Claudia,  earnestly.  Mrs. 
Thome's  penetration  was  not  at  fault  in  attributing  her 
unwonted  warmth  on  the  subject  to  a  thought  of  Philip 
Ventnor,  but  she  only  said, 

"  Well,  then,  don't  try  your  eyes  and  weary  your  mind, 
by  reading  when  you  ought  to  be  asleep.  I  wish  you  to  go 
out  with  me  this  morning.  I  must  call  at  your  aunt's,  and 
see  that  she  and  Arabella  make  no  engagement  for  Thursday." 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE    HOME.  113 

"  What  is  to  be  on  Thursday,  mamma  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  have  your  uncle  and  aunt  and  cousin,  and 
those  English  gentlemen  whom  we  met  there  the  other  night, 
here  to  dinner." 

"  Any  body  else,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  they  knew  Mr.  Russell  very  well  in  Canton,  and 
think  most  highly  of  him,  as  indeed  all  do  who  know  him ; 
and  I  shall  ask  him  to  meet  them." 

"  Mr.  Russell !  "  exclaimed  Claudia.  "  You  don't  mean 
the  man  who  lives  all  alone  in  that  large  red  brick  house, 
like  a  spell-bound  prince  !  I  should  like,  of  all  things,  to  see 
him  among  humans ;  but  I  don't  believe  the  wicked  Fairy 
will  let  him  come.  I  shouldn't  a  bit  wonder  if  he  is  fastened 
with  golden  fetters,  or  changed  into  some  wonderful  shape, 
the  instant  he  steps  inside  that  old  house." 

"  What  childish  nonsense  you  are  talking,  Claudia,"  said 
her  mother,  not  caring  to  show  how  greatly  pleased  she  was 
at  that  same  nonsense.  "  Mr.  Russell's  sister  Clara,  now 
Mrs.  Blake,  and  I,  used  to  exchange  visits,  and  I  have  had  a 
bowing  acquaintance  with  all  the  family  since  I  can  remem 
ber.  But  Robert  has  been  in  mourning  for  his  father  ever 
since  he  came  from  China,  and  of  course  has  not  been  into 
society  at  all.  I  should  have  preferred  an  evening  recep 
tion,"  she  added,  thinking  how  particularly  lovely  Claudia 
looked  in  evening-dress,  "  but  I  see  he  still  wears  mourning 
for  his  father ;  and  then,  his  sister's  husband  died  recently, 
which  of  course  would  make  his  coming  out  of  the  question, 
except  in  the  quietest  way." 

Here  Mrs.  Thorne  paused,  and  looked  into  Claudia's  face, 
wishing  she  knew  just  what  cue  to  take  ;  but  though  it  was 
a  fair,  open  face,  she  had  to  proceed  blindly.  "  I  hope 
Arabella  Avon't  fall  in  love  with  this  Eastern  prince,  for  I  am 
afraid  there  would  be  but  little  hope  for  her.  He  must  be 
proof  against  womanly  charms,  or  he  would  have  been 
married  before  now  ;  still,  Bella  is  rather  pretty,  and  gentlej 
and  he  may  chance  to  be  captivated  by  her;  and  if  he 
should,  your  aunt  might  well  bless  me  for  bringing  them 


114  MARGARET : 

together.  Such  a  fortune,  and  such  a  position,  and  such 
personal  attractions,  are  rare  by  themselves ;  but  it  is  only 
once  in  a  lifetime  that  one  finds  them  combined." 

Claudia  only  waited  for  her  mother  to  finish,  to  burst  into 
a  merry  laugh.  "  Oh,  mamma,  to  think  that  you  should  be 
the  good  Fairy  to  bring  the  enchanted  prince  and  the 
enchanting  princess  together  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Claudia  ?  " 

"  Why,  it  was  only  the  other  day  that  Bella  and  I  were 
driving  by  the  castle,  and  saw  the  prince  dismounting  from 
a  magnificent  black  charger,  looking  so  reserved  and  proud, 
and  withal  so  handsome,  that  I  said  to  Bella,  '  Don't  you 
wish  you  were  the  fair  maiden  appointed  to  break  the  cruel 
enchantment  that  binds  that  poor  prince  ? '  You  should 
have  heard  the  melancholy  tone  in  which  she  replied,  '  Oh, 
Claudie,  for  three  months — ever  since  I  saw  him  riding  that 
black  horse  the  first  time — he  has  been  my  beau  ideal  /  but  I 
never  shall  know  him.'  And  now  she  will !  And  I'll  see 
that  she  wears  her  prettiest  dress,  and  looks  her  sweetest ; " 
and  Claudia  rested  her  elbow  on  the  table  and  her  cheek  on 
her  hand,  and  looked  up  at  her  mother,  her  eyes  fairly  danc 
ing,  over  the  little  matrimonial  plot  she  was  laying. 

Her  mother  thought,  as  she  glanced  at  the  graceful, 
rounded  figure,  and  the  lovely  young  face,  that  if  Mr.  Russell 
could  see  her  then,  or  at  any  time  when  her  head  was  not 
full  of  sentimental  nonsense  about  Philip  Ventnor,  she  need 
have  no  fear  of  his  being  captivated  by  the  commonplace 
Arabella,  instead  of  her  rarely  beautiful  Claudia.  But  she 
kept  these  thoughts  to  herself,  only  saying,  '  Don't  neglect 
to  do  credit  to  my  training,  child,  in  your  own  toilet  and 
behavior." 

Claudia  rose  from  the  table  and  stood  looking  into  the 
fire,  until  her  mother  summoned  her  to  come  and  get  ready 
for  their  drive,  her  face  no  longer  sparkling  and  gay,  but 
quiet  and  grave  ;  her  thoughts  no  longer  of  the  enchanted 
prince  and  Bella,  and  her  schemes  for  them,  but  of  Philip 
Ventnor.  Must  the  shadow  that  had  so  soon  crept  over  her 


A   STORY   OF   LITE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  115 

life  deepen  and  darken  till  it  shut  Philip  from  her  forever, 
except  in  dreams  ? 

Mr.  Russell  accepted  Mrs.  Thome's  invitation  to  an 
informal  dinner,  out  of  regard  for  the  friends  whom  he  was 
invited  to  meet,  little  imagining  that  two  heads  were  plotting 
against  his  solitude.  And  Mrs.  Thome  would  have  been  far 
from  satisfied  had  she  known  how  little  place  her  dinner  had 
in  his  thoughts,  as  he  entered  his  house  earlier  than  usual 
Thursday  afternoon. 

"  Has  any  one  been  here  ?  "  he  asked  of  Janet,  who  met 
him  in  the  hall  according  to  her  custom. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Robert ;  there's  a  young  man  been  here  some 
minutes.  He's  in  the  library." 

Two  or  three  mornings  before,  Mr.  Russell's  attention 
had  been  attracted  by  a  young  man  who  stood  near  the  door 
as  he  entered  his  counting-house.  The  first  passing  glance 
had  made  him  look  again,  and  he  saw  that  his  clothes  were 
worn  and  old-fashioned,  but  that  he  had  a  refined,  intellectual 
face,  and  that  he  was  looking  for  something.  No  doubt 
there  was  a  kindly  interest  in  Mr.  Russell's  eyes,  for  the 
young  man  stepped  forward,  though  with  some  hesitation, 
and  said,  "  Do  you  know,  sir,  of  any  one  who  wants  a 
copyist,  or  bookkeeper,  or  any  thing  of  the  kind  ?  " 

"  Is  it  for  yourself  that  you  wish  the  situation  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Russell,  thinking  the  eyes  that  looked  so  steadily  into  his 
must  belong  to  a  true  and  loyal  heart. 

"  Yes,  sir ;  for  myself." 

"  Come  in  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  leading  the  way 
to  the  office,  which  was  empty. 

"  Are  you  a  stranger  in  the  city  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  not  a  single  acquaintance  here,  or  I  would 
not  have  troubled  you,  sir,  an  entire  stranger,  in  this  way ;  " 
and  a  faint  tinge  of  red  flushed  the  pale  face. 

"  Don't  think  it  a  trouble.  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  in 
your  search,  and  shall  be  glad  to  do  so.  New  York  is  a 
great,  busy  place,  and  there  are  many,  like  you,  in  quest  of 
work." 


116  MABGAKET I 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  made  a  mistake  in  coming  to  Kew 
York,"  said  the  young  man ;  "  but  it  seemed  the  only  thing 
for  me  to  do." 

"  I  would  not  call  it  a  mistake,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  "  if  it 
seemed  the  best  thing  to  be  done.  If  your  search  proves 
unsuccessful,  you  can  take  the  next  best  thing  with  more 
satisfaction,  for  having  made  this  attempt.  But  now  tell  me 
something  about  yourself,"  he  said,  smiling.  "  I  want  to 
know  your  name,  and  where  you  live,  and  just  what  you 
want  to  do." 

"  My  name  is  John  Heath ;  my  father  is  a  minister,  and 
my  home  is  in  Rockdale,  in  this  State.  I  am  ready  to  do  any 
thing  I  can  do  that  will  earn  money.  I  have  had  no  experi 
ence  in  bookkeeping,  but  I  have  been  studying  it  for  the  past 
two  months,  and  think  I  could  undertake  it.  I  suppose  it 
would  bring  better  pay  than  copying." 

"  Well,  we  will  see  what  our  combined  efforts  can  do," 
said  Mr.  Russell,  as  Mr.  Kent  and  another  gentleman  entered 
the  office.  John  rose  to  go,  taking  from  his  well-worn  pocket- 
book  two  letters,  which  he  handed  to  Mr.  Russell. 

"  Those  are  the  only  recommendations  I  have,"  he  said ; 
"  one  is  from  my  old  teacher  in  Rockdale,  and  the  other  from 

one  of  the  professors  in University ;  but,"  he  added, 

"  my  father  knows  me  better  than  any  body,  and  you  could 
trust  to  his  giving  an  impartial  account  of  me." 

This  was  said  with  a  smile  that  made  the  manly  face 
almost  childlike,  and  very  winning ;  and  Mr.  Russell  said, 
"  Leave  these  letters  with  me,  Mr.  Heath,  till  Thursday,  and 
then  come  to  my  house — there  is  my  address — at  four  o'clock, 
and  I  will  talk  with  you  more  about  your  plans,  and  tell  you 
if  I  have  heard  of  any  thing  for  you.  Is  there  any  thing  I 
can  do  for  you  till  then  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,  I  think  there  is  nothing ; "  and  John 
Heath  went  away  by  many  degrees  lighter  hearted  than  he 
had  been  fifteen  minutes  before. 

It  was  he  who  sat  gazing  with  such  hungry  eyes  at  the 
book-lined  walls  of  the  library,  when  Mr.  Russell  entered. 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PRAIKIE   HOME.  117 

"  You  look  at  my  books  as  if  you  had  an  affection  foi 
their  kind,"  Mr.  Russell  said,  as  they  shook  hands. 

John's  eyes  passed  slowly  along  the  lines  of  substantial, 
attractive-looking  volumes ;  and  he  answered,  "  I  have  given 
them  up ;  at  least,  for  some  years  to  come  I  expect  to  have 
very  little  to  do  with  them." 

"  You  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  them  thus  far,  I 
Bee  from  the  letters  you  left  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 

"  I  have  done  nothing  all  my  life  but  study ;  but  now  I 
must  work." 

"  Your  father's  letter  tells  me — you  see,  I  acted  upon 
your  suggestion,"  said  Mr.  Russell — "  that  your  plans  have 
been  broken  up,  and  intimates  that  the  change  involved  a 
great  sacrifice  on  your  part;  but  he  leaves  you  to  tell  me 
more  fully  about  it." 

John  hesitated  a  moment,  while  the  workings  of  his  face 
showed  what  a  sore  subject  it  was  to  him ;  and  then  he  said, 
"  Ever  since  I  was  fifteen  years  old  I  have  intended  to 
be  a  minister,  and  all  my  studies  have  been  with  a  view 
to  that.  I  was  fitted  for  college  when  I  was  eighteen,  and 
had  just  entered  the  junior  year,  when  I  was  obliged  to 
leave." 

"  Your  father  has  no  church  now,  I  beliove  ?  " 

"  No,"  John  replied ;  "  he  had  been  the  pastor  of  the 
church  in  Rockdale  for  thirty  years,  but  had  grown  old,  and 
was  less  vigorous  than  he  used  to  be  ;  so  the  church  decided 
that  they  needed  a  younger  man — and  father  is  too  broken- 
down  to  be  called  to  another  church,  or  to  undertake  any 
thing  else.  But  I  am  ready  to  work  for  him  and  my  dear 
mother ;  as  long  as  they  live  they  shall  never  lack  a  comfort 
that  I  can  provide ;  and  my  younger  brother  shall  have  the 
best  chance  for  an  education  that  I  can  give  him." 

"  It  must,  indeed,  be  a  very  strait  and  narrow  path  that 
hedges  you  in  from  the  possibility  of  carrying  out  so  sacred 
a  purpose,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  thoughtfully. 

"  I  find  it  so,"  replied  John.  "  I  know  that  I  can  serve 
my  Master  in  other  ways,  but  I  did  hope  to  consecrate  my 


118  MARGABET : 

whole  time  and  every  power  of  my  soul  to  Him,  as  I  think 
only  a  minister  can." 

"  Suppose  that  now  a  way  opened  before  you  to  carry 
out  your  purpose ;  would  you  not  feel  it  to  be  your  duty  to 
do  so,  even  if  the  way  were  at  first  repugnant  to  your  pride, 
and  sense  of  independence  ?  " 

John  looked  at  Mr.  Russell  wonderingly,  and  answered 
that,  no  matter  what  the  way  might  be,  if  it  were  opened  for 
him,  he  should  not  hesitate  a  moment ;  but  he  could  not  con 
ceive  of  such  a  possibility,  when  he  was  the  sole  dependence 
of  his  parents. 

"  But  suppose  that  one,  who  is  but  an  older  brother,  to 
whom  the  Father  has  intrusted  more  of  this  world's  goods 
than  to  you,  should  offer  you  the  means  to  pursue  your 
studies  and  fit  yourself  for  His  service,  and  at  the  same  time 
should  promise  to  take  a  brother's  care  of  your  parents,  that 
you  might  the  sooner  enter  upon  your  work  :  would  you  dare 
to  refuse  the  offer  ?  " 

John  sat  motionless  for  several  minutes,  while  Mr.  Rus 
sell  waited  for  his  answer.  At  length  he  said,  in  low  tones 
of  deep  feeling,  "  No,  sir ;  I  should  not  dare." 

"  I  knew  you  would  not,"  answered  Mr.  Russell.  An 
hour  later,  when  he  suddenly  remembered  his  engagement  at 
Mrs.  Thome's,  he  had  briefly  stated  his  plans  and  wishes, 
formed  since  he  received  Mr.  Heath's  letter,  and  arranged  to 
see  John  again ;  and  John  left  the  house,  hardly  knowing 
whether  he  trod  on  earth  or  air. 

When  Mr.  Russell  entered  Mrs.  Thome's  drawing-room, 
she  received  him  with  the  perfection  of  hospitable  grace, 
assuring  him  that  she  esteemed  it  a  great  favor  that  he 
should  so  honor  her,  under  the  circumstances.  She  inquired 
with  the  warmest  sympathy  after  his  sister's  health,  of 
whose  affliction  she  had  learned  with  such  pain,  and  then 
they  joined  the  group  of  busy  talkers  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  where  Mr.  Russell  was  presented  to  the  ladies — to 
Mrs.  William  Thorne,  delicate  and  languid — to  Arabella, 
with  her  flaxen  hair  and  blue  eyes,  looking  her  sweetest,  as 


A    STORY    OF   LIFE    IN    A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  119 

Claudia  had  said  she  should — and  to  Claudia,  whose  violet 
eyes,  long  black  lashes  and  black  hair,  together  with  her 
peachy  complexion  and  delicate  features,  formed  a  whole  that 
was  as  rare  as  it  was  beautiful,  and  did  not  escape  Mr.  Rus 
sell's  quick  eye.  Mrs.  Thome  felt  quite  at  ease  as  to  the  im 
pression  they  had  made ;  Claudia  was  so  self-possessed,  and 
yet  so  perfectly  unconscious  of  herself,  and  Arabella  so  shrink 
ing  and  self-conscious,  when  Mr.  Russell  addressed  them. 

Claudia  meditated  the  daring  act  of  altering  her  mother's 
arrangements  so  far  as  to  place  Bella  beside  Mr.  Russell  at 
dinner ;  but  that  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do,  and  she  found 
herself  in  the  place  she  intended  for  her  cousin.  However, 
Bella  was  just  opposite,  and  for  a  time  Claudia  busied  her 
self  in  trying  to  look  at  her  through  the  stranger's  eyes. 
But  before  long  she  had  yielded  to  the  charm  of  Mr.  Rus 
sell's  conversation,  sustaining  her  part  with  a  simple  grace 
and  spirit  that  greatly  pleased  his  fastidious  taste.  Even 
after  the  talk  became  general,  she  remained  perfectly  oblivi 
ous  of  the  weighty  plot  her  little  head  had  been  charged 
with  for  the  last  three  days,  and  listened  eagerly  to  the 
reminiscences  of  life  in  Canton  exchanged  between  the  three 
gentlemen  who  had  met  there,  and  to  the  talk  of  travels, 
books,  and  men,  that  followed.  But  by-and-by  she  chanced 
to  catch  Bella's  eyes,  fixed  upon  her  so  reproachfully,  that  it 
all  flashed  across  her  mind,  and  it  was  only  by  dint  of  effort 
that  she  refrained  from  laughing. 

She  mentally  shook  her  head  at  herself,  saying,  "  It  will 
never  do.  I'm  sorry  I  encouraged  the  child  to  think  of  sueh 
an  absurd  thing."  She  glanced  up  at  her  neighbor,  and 
shook  her  head  again  as  she  looked  over  at  Bella.  "  Oh, 
dear,  no ;  she  is  a  mere  chit  of  a  girl,  and  he  is — I  don't 
know  all  he  is.  I  think  Philip  and  he  could  understand  and 
appreciate  each  other." 

When  dinner  was  over,  Claudia  put  her  arm  within  her 
cousin's,  and  as  they  walked  across  the  drawing-room  she 
said,  laughingly,  "  Instead  of  being  princesses  that  the  prince 
would  deign  to  notice,  we  are  like  little  mice,  trying  to 


120  MABGABET  I 

play  with  a  lion.  He  could  walk  over  us  and  never  see 
us." 

The  lids  of  Bella's  eyes  were  actually  pink  with  her 
efforts  to  keep  back  the  tears.  "  I  didn't  think  you  would 
do  so,  Claudie.  You  kept  talking  to  him  all  the  time,  and 
never  gave  him  a  chance  to  say  a  word  to  me,  or  even  to 
look  at  me." 

Claudia  laughed.  "  Why,  Childie,  I  believe  you  are  in 
love  already.  You  shall  have  him  all  to  yourself  the  rest  of 
the  evening." 

"  You  know  very  well  that  we  have  another  engagement 
this  evening  with  those  prosy  men,  and  we  shall  go  very 
soon,  and  I  may  never  see  him  again." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  what  shall  1  do  ?  "  cried  Claudia,  wringing 
her  hands  in  pretended  distress.  "  Oh,  I  know ; "  and  she 
drew  Bella  towards  the  rest  of  the  company,  saying : 

"  Mamma,  before  Bella  goes,  I  should  like  to  hear  the 
song  she^has  just  learned ;  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Claudie,  I  really  can't !  "  cried  Bella,  blushing. 

"  Do,  my  dear,"  urged  Mrs.  Thorne,  thinking  that  Claudia 
would  sing  afterwards  with  more  effect. 

"  Sing,  my  love,"  said  her  mother  ;  and  so  Bella  sang  her 
song,  which  was  no  other  than  " Robert,  toi  que  faime"  and 
Claudia  and  Mr.  Russell  stood  by  to  listen,  Claudia  feeling 
much  inclined  to  laugh  at  the  unusual  touch  of  pathos  in  her 
cousin's  voice,  and  a  little  shocked  at  her  own  temerity,  as 
she  met  her  mother's  grave  looks. 

When  Bella  rose  from  the  piano,  Claudia  would  have  left 
her  standing  beside  Mr.  Russell ;  but  he  asked  her  to  sing, 
and,  without  the  least  hesitation  or  apology,  she  seated  her 
self,  and  sung  the  first  thing  that  occurred  to  her,  only  think 
ing  that  she  would  not  mar  the  effect  of  Bella's  " Robert"  by 
singing  any  thing  of  the  same  style.  The  sweet,  simple  bal 
lad  she  sung  charmed  every  body ;  but  there  was  no  time  for 
any  thing  more,  as  her  aunt  rose,  saying  that  if  they  were 
going  to  the  concert,  it  was  fully  time  for  them  to  start.  Mr. 
Russell  remained  to  hear  another  song,  as  Mrs.  Thorne  en- 


A    STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  121 

treated.  He  did  not  see  the  pathetic  glance  from  Bella's 
eyes,  as  he  bowed  to  her  and  her  mother,  and  shook  hands 
with  the  gentlemen ;  but  Claudia  did,  and  she  was  giving 
herself  a  sound  scolding  for  her  mischievous  match-making, 
when  Mr.  Russell  said,  "  Do  you  sing  a  little  German  song, 
Miss  Thome,  called  <  Gut  JVac/it,  Fdhr1  wohV  ?" 

Claudia's  cheeks  took  a  brighter  tint,  as  she  replied : 
"  Oh,  yes,  I  sing  it  often ;"  and  she  went  to  the  piano. 

Mr.  Russell  wondered  that  a  light-hearted,  careless  girl, 
just  on  the  threshold  of  a  life  full  of  sunshine,  should  be  able 
to  throw  such  intense  feeling  into  the  song.  Every  tone 
seemed  to  come  straight  from  the  heart  of  the  singer,  and 
fell  sweet  and  tender  and  thrilling  upon  the  ears  of  the  lis 
teners. 

Claudia  did  not  hear  the  door  open,  or  know  that  some 
one  had  entered  the  room,  and  stood  behind  her  at  a  little 
distance  while  she  sang  the  closing  strains.  Mr.  Russell, 
standing  by  the  piano,  had  noticed  the  cold,  stately  greet 
ing  of  Mrs.  Thome,  and  Mr.  Thome's  embarrassed,  though 
kindly  manner,  but  all  tacitly  waited  for  the  song  to  end. 
When  the  last  lingering  notes  had  died  quite  away,  Mrs. 
Thorne  came  forward  and  said,  "  Mr.  Ventnor,  let  me  intro 
duce  you  to  Mr.  Russell,"  and  Mr.  Russell  turned — but  not 
before  he  had  caught  the  Hash  of  joyful  surprise  that  bright 
ened  Claudia's  face,  whose  expression,  till  she  heard  the 
name,  had  been  so  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  her  song ; 
yet  her  greeting  was  constrained.  Not  till  he  had  dropped 
Claudia's  hand,  did  it  seem  to  dawn  upon  Philip  to  whom 
he  had  been  introduced  ;  and  then,  with  his  handsome  face 
all  aglow,  he  grasped  Mr.  Russell's  hand. 

"  Mr.  Russell !  I  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you 
before,  and  yet  I  have  a  right  to  claim  you  as  a  friend." 

Mr.  Russell  returned  the  warm  grasp,  saying,  "  I  have  a 
prior  right  to  claim  your  friendship,  for  I  have  known  you 
through  your  writings." 

The  gleam  of  pleasure  that  shone  in  Claudia's  eyes  was 
not  lost  upon  him. 
G 


122  MAEGAKET  : 

A  little  bit  of  skilful  manoeuvring  on  Mrs.  Thome's  part 
placed  Mr.  Russell  beside  Claudia,  and  Mr.  Ventnor  beside 
herself;  and  though  the  conversation  was  general,  and  never 
flagged,  Mr.  Russell  was  conscious  of  something  uncomfort 
able  in  the  atmosphere,  and  was  not  surprised  that  Mr. 
Vcntnor's  call  was  short.  He  merely  bowed  low  to  Claudia 
as  he  passed  her  on  his  way  from  the  room  ;  and  Mr.  Russell 
found  himself  meditating  upon  all  these  little  signs  that  the 
current  of  this  young  love  did  not  run  smoothly. 

The  outer  door  was  scarcely  closed  behind  Philip,  when 
Mrs.  Thorne  said,  "  What  a  pity  it  is  that  a  young  man  who 
is  as  talented  as  Mr.  Ventnor,  should  ruin  his  prospects  by 
dissipation." 

Mr.  Russell  was  too  surprised  and  shocked  to  speak.  He 
only  glanced  involuntarily  at  Claudia,  who  sat  leaning  slight 
ly  forward,  her  hands  clasped  tightly  together,  and  an  expres 
sion  of  sharp  pain  on  her  face,  in  strange  contrast  with  its 
child-like  brightness  an  hour  before. 

"  I  think  you  state  the  case  too  strongly,  Helen,"  said 
Mr.  Thorne.  "  I  am  afraid  it  is  true  that  Mr.  Ventnor  inher 
its  his  father's  weakness,  but  he  is  very  far  from  being  ruined 
by  dissipation." 

"  It  is  only  a  difference  of  terms ;  if,  as  you  say,  he  in 
herits  his  father's  weakness,  there  can  be  no  hope  for  him. 
His  father  died  a  victim  to  that  fatal  weakness,  and  I  suppose 
there  is  no  doubt  but  that  his  son  is  following  in  his  foot 
steps." 

"  '  No  hope '  and  '  no  doubt '  are  very  strong  terms,  Mrs. 
Thorne,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  as  he  rose  to  go.  "  With  such 
safeguards  as  I  am  sure  Mr.  Ventnor  possesses,  I  think  there 
is  every  reason  to  hope  for  his  welfare,  and  to  doubt  his 
yielding  to  the  fatal  weakness." 

He  said  good-night  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thorne,  and  re 
ceived  their  warm  expressions  of  grateful  pleasure,  and  then 
turned  to  Claudia.  Mrs.  Thorne  dreAv  her  own  conclusions 
from  the  meeting  of  their  eyes,  and  the  clasp  of  their  hands ; 
they  were  not  to  her,  as  they  were  to  Claudia,  the  simple  to- 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN  A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  123 

kens  of  a  brotherly  interest  in  her,  and  in  Philip,  though 
Claudia  could  not  have  told  why  she  felt  so  much  stronger 
and  safer,  just  because  of  her  look  into  those  kindly  eyes. 

That  night,  as  Mr.  Russell  sat  beside  the  fire  in  his  sanc 
tum,  his  thoughts  dwelt  for  a  time,  with  quiet  satisfaction, 
upon  the  easy  task  of  enabling  John  Heath  to  fulfill  his 
cherished  plan  of  giving  himself  to  Christ's  service.  Then 
they  turned  to  Philip  Ventnor,  with  the  solicitude  of  a  strong 
and  generous  nature  for  a  gifted  one,  tried  and  in  peril ;  and 
the  thought  of  the  young  heart,  whose  happiness  seemed 
linked  with  Philip's  fate,  added  intensity  to  the  interest  that 
few  are  capable  of  feeling  for  those  to  whom  they  are  only 
bound  by  the  tie  of  a  common  brotherhood. 

But  how  was  his  interest  to  avail  any  thing  ?  He  could 
not  see,  as  yet,  but  trusted  that  time  would  develope  a  way. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  shade  by  which  my  life  was  crossed, 

Which  makes  a  desert  in  the  mind, 

Has  made  me  kindly  with  my  kind.  TEXXTSON. 

"  I  THINK  I  will  return  with  you  to  Rockdale,"  said  Mr. 
Russell  to  John  Heath,  in  the  course  of  their  next  interview. 
"I  am  anxious  to  know  your  father  and  mother,  and  have 
them  regard  me  as  a  friend.  It  is  but  a  few  hours  from 
New  York,  and  I  can  go  and  come  in  one  day.  There  are 
some  things  that  I  should  like  to  talk  over  with  them." 

John's  delight  and  surprise  at  this  new  proof  of  Mr.  Rus 
sell's  kindness  were  unbounded. 

"  I  know,"  he  said,  "  that  nothing  could  give  them  greater 
pleasure  than  to  know  you,  sir." 

He  spent  that  evening  with  Mr.  Russell,  and  the  next 
morning  they  started  for  Rockdale ;  and  if  Mr.  Russell  had 
felt  any  misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  of  his  project,  they 
would  have  been  dispelled  as  he  gained  a  clearer  insight  into 
John's  character.  The  genuineness  of  his  piety,  his  earnest 
love  for  the  work  he  had  chosen,  and  his  lofty  views  of  its 
sacredness  and  responsibility,  together  with  his  genial,  frank 
nature  and  vigorous  intellect,  impressed  him  more  and  more, 
and  deepened  the  interest  he  had  felt  in  him  from  the  first 
chance  meeting.  His  plans  for  him  were  all  arranged  and 
explained  with  business-like  precision,  and  there  was  little 
said  of  obligation  or  gratitude ;  for  when  one  generous 
spirit  confers  a  great  benefit  upon  another,  words  are  not 
needed  to  remove  a  painful  burden  of  obligation,  or  to  make 
the  appreciation  of  its  value  felt.  Moreover,  John  knew  that 
it  was  a  service  done  for  the  sake  of  their  Saviour ;  and  while 
that  took  nothing  from  his  personal  gratitude  to  his  friend,  it 
kept  self  out  of  sight,  and  made  it  easier  for  him  to  look  the 
benefaction  calmly  in  the  face. 


A   STOEY    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  125 

They  reached  Rockdale  about  noon,  and  a  few  minutes' 
walk  brought  them  to  the  little  house  in  the  village  where 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Heath  were  staying.  John  pointed  out,  in 
passing,  the  church  where  his  father  had  preached  for  so 
many  years,  and  the  parsonage  where  he  and  his  brothers 
and  sisters  had  been  born  and  brought  up. 

John's  arrival,  and  with  a  stranger,  was  a  great  surprise, 
as  he  had  written  but  once  during  his  absence,  and  then  only 
to  give  them  a  glowing  description  of  his  first  meeting  with 
Mr.  Russell,  waiting  till  he  saw  them  to  tell  the  wonderful 
thing  that  had  befallen  him.  But  Mr.  Russell's  own  letter 
to  Mr.  Heath  had  won  their  hearts,  and  insured  him  a  warm 
welcome  ;  and  his  coming  to  Rockdale  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  see  them,  was  a  proof  of  interest  they  could  hardly 
credit. 

In  the  little  old-fashioned  parlor  they  sat  till  dinner-time, 
talking  of  things  in  general,  though  John's  restless  manner, 
and  eager,  sparkling  eyes,  marked  his  impatience  to  tell  his 
story.  But  Mr.  Russell  had  reserved  that  to  do  himself,  in 
his  own  time  and  way. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Heath  interested  him  at  once.  Their  sim 
ple,  trusting  piety,  breathing  through  all  they  said,  and  shin 
ing  in  their  care-worn  faces,  was  all  that  was  needed  to  win 
his  confidence  and  respect ;  but  their  intelligence,  native 
refinement,  and  warm-heartedness,  were  equally  apparent; 
and  Mr.  Russell  looked  upon  their  gray  heads  and  bent 
figures  with  a  mingling  of  tenderness  and  reverence.  Mrs. 
Heath  had  evidently  known  much  of  care  and  sorrow, 
but  the  wrinkles  could  not  hide  the  sweetness  and  patience 
of  expression  that  trouble,  gently  borne,  had  given  her  face ; 
and  her  cheerful  manner  and  views,  together  with  all  the 
signs  of  suffering,  carried  a  lesson  that  Mr.  Russell  took  to 
his  heart.  Mr.  Heath  had  rather  a  rugged  face,  with  deep-set, 
piercing  eyes,  and  his  strong,  vigorous  thoughts,  and  original 
way  of  expressing  them,  contrasted  strangely  with  his 
white  hair,  bent  figure,  and  tremulous  tones.  John  bad 
previously  told  Mr.  Russell  that  his  father  seemed  to  have 


MAEGAKET  : 

grown  ten  years  older  since  he  had  been  deprived  of  his  pas 
toral  cares. 

After  dinner,  John  went  out  to  find  his  brother  Henry, 
whom  he  had  not  seen  yet ;  and  then  Mr.  Russell  broke  his 
plan  to  the  minister  and  his  wife,  very  much  as  he  had 
first  broken  it  to  John  himself — leaving  them  no  option 
but  to  accept  it  as  the  way  Providence  had  opened  for 
their  son's  usefulness  in  his  chosen  path.  The  deep  joy  and 
thankfulness  of  their  hearts  were  not  such  as  could  find  vent 
in  words.  They  listened  with  tearful  eyes  to  Mr.  Russell's 
expressions  of  interest  in  their  son,  and  his  confident  hope  of 
seeing  him  one  of  the  most  useful  laborers  in  Christ's  vine 
yard.  When  Mr.  Heath  spoke,  it  was  to  reproach  himself 
for  his  want  of  faith.  "  Here  have  I  been  mourning  over 
John's  broken  hopes,  almost  ready  to  question  the  providence 
that  shut  him  away  from  a  work  for  which  he  seemed  pecu 
liarly  fitted,  forgetting  that  He  who  sees  the  end  from  the 
beginning  could  bring  it  about,  if  it  was  best.  I  am  utterly 
unworthy  of  this." 

"  My  dear  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Heath,  in  trembling  tones, 
"  we  don't  deserve  it,  but  we  will  accept  it  thankfully,  and  be 
careful  to  trust  for  the  future.  Oh,  John,"  she  added,  "  to 
think  that  we  may,  after  all,  live  to  see  our  boy  a  preacher 
of  the  gospel !  " 

Mr.  Heath  bowed  his  head,  feeling  that  he  could  not  trust 
himself  to  say  a  word ;  and  after  a  few  moments'  silence,  Mr. 
Russell,  remembering  that  he  had  not  very  much  time  before 
the  train  left,  touched  upon  his  plans  for  them. 

"  I  suppose  you  would  much  prefer  remaining  in-  Rock- 
dale.  You  must  have  many  warm  friends  here,  and  it  is  no 
small  undertaking  to  make  a  new  home  in  a  strange  place." 

"  We  did  hope,"  answered  Mrs.  Heath,  "  to  live  and  die 
here.  We  have  five  dear  children  sleeping  in  the  grave 
yard,  and  we  thought  we  might  live  near  them,  and  be  buried 
beside  them.  But  if  God  wills  it  to  be  otherwise,  we  will 
not  complain." 

"  But  why  should  you  leave  Rockdale  ?     If  Mrs.  Ford 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   FEAIRIE   HOME.  127 

wishes  you  to  remain  with  her,  I  should  think  you  could 
hardly  have  a  more  comfortable  home." 

"  No,  it  is  true  we  could  not,"  answered  Mr.  Heath,  "  but 
there  seem  to  be  obstacles  in  the  way  of  any  such  arrange 
ment  ;  "  and  then  Mr.  Russell,  not  waiting  for  them  to  refer 
to  the  perplexities  that  had  arisen  out  of  the  change  in  John's 
plans,  with  all  the  skill  and  tact  of  which  he  was  master, 
made  knoAvn  his  intentions  with  regard  to  them  and  their  son 
Henry  ;  and  before  the  tAVO  brothers  came  in,  they  had  yield 
ed  to  his  persuasions,  and  promised  to  treat  him  as  a  sou. 
So  it  was  arranged  that  John  should  return  at  once  to  the 
University,  that  the  others  should  remain  in  Rockdale,  and 
that  Henry  should  study  with  his  present  teacher  for  another 
year,  and  then  decide  whether  he  would  enter  college,  or  go 
into  business. 

When  Mr.  Russell  left  them,  was  it  any  wonder  that  he 
curm ci  the  blessing  of  four  grateful  hearts  with  him?  or 
that,  when  John  entered  upon  his  studies  again,  added  to  his 
first  and  highest  motive  for  improving  his  time  and  abilities  to 
the  utmost,  he  should  have  cherished  that  of  proving  to  his 
kind  friend  that  his  confidence  was  not  misplaced  ? 

Several  weeks  passed,  during  which  Mr.  Russell  called 
two  or  three  times  at  Mrs.  Thome's,  drawn  thither  by  his 
interest  in  Claudia,  and  his  enjoyment  of  her  music,  and  not 
less  by  his  hope  of  seeing  or  hearing  something  of  Philip 
Ventnor.  But  he  saw  him  no  more,  and  his  name  was  only 
mentioned  once,  and  that  was  when  Claudia  had  left  the 
room  for  a  moment :  Mrs.  Thorne  said,  "  By  the  way,  have 
you  happened  to  see  or  hear  any  thing  of  Mr.  Ventnor  of 
late  ?  " 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  answered  Mr.  Russell.  "  I  had 
hoped  to  meet  him  again  before  this;  but  I  suppose  his 
home  is  at  Mr.  Tapscott's,  and,  as  he  lives  out  of  town,  I 
have  not  known  where  to  find  him,  or  I  should  have  called 
upon  him." 

"  We  hear  occasional  rumors  concerning  him  that  are 
any  thing  but  creditable.  But  I  think  you  arc  mistaken  as 


128  MAJKGAKET: 

to  his  living  at  his  grandfather's.  It  would  be  better  for 
him  if  he  did,  but  I  am  quite  sure  he  has  rooms  in  town. 
His  visits  here  are  at  an  end,  and  we  know  very  little  of  him, 
but  that  little  is  quite  enough." 

Claudia  came  back,  and  the  subject  was  dropped ;  but 
Mr.  Russell  needed  to  hear  no  more  to  determine  him  upon 
finding  Mr.  Ventnor  without  delay.  He  had  noticed  a 
change  in  Claudia  since  his  first  visit ;  her  cheek  had  lost  its 
bloom,  her  eye  its  sparkle,  and  her  manner  was  often  quiet 
and  depressed  ;  and  again,  she  would  laugh  and  talk  with  a 
wild  gayety  that  was  more  painful  than  her  sadness.  He 
associated  the  change  with  Philip  ;  and  when  he  knew  their 
intercourse  to  be  entirely  broken  up,  he  understood  it  all, 
and  felt  that  her  pain  must  be  increased  a  thousandfold  by 
the  knowledge,  which  her  mother  would  probably  take  no 
pains  to  keep  from  her,  that  Philip  was  growing  reckless  and 
desperate. 

As  he  bade  Claudia  good-by,  he  longed  to  tell  her  that  he 
was  going  to  seek  Philip,  and  try  to  help  him.  He  felt  sure 
that  the  pleading  look  in  her  sorrowful  eyes  was  an  appeal 
to  him.  But  he  could  only  give  her  the  silent  sympathy  of 
his  eye  and  hand,  and  go  the  very  next  day  to  ask  Mr.  Tap- 
scott  for  Philip's  address. 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Mr.  Russell  had  seen  Mr. 
Tapscott  since  the  affair  of  the  note.  More  than  once  had 
he  been  assured  that  his  kindness  had  saved  him  from  losing 
every  thing  he  had  in  the  world ;  but  now  it  was  reiterated 
with  unabated  warmth,  and  Mr.  Russell  began  to  fear  that  it 
would  never  be  forgotten. 

"  I  came  to  ask  for  the  address  of  your  grandson,  Mr. 
Philip  Ventnor,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Tapscott  gave  him  a 
chance. 

The  old  man's  face  grew  very  grave,  as  he  replied,  "  Ah, 
poor  boy !  I  am  afraid  there's  a  bankruptcy  pending  there 
that  no  friendly  hand  can  ward  off." 

"  Don't  be  hopeless  about  him,  Mr.  Tapscott.  '  Hope  on, 
hope  ever,'  is  a  good  maxim  for  all  kinds  of  troubles.  I 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  129 

to  have  Mr.  Ventnor  come  and  dine  with  me,  hi  my 
bachelor's  hall.  Where  shall  I  find  him  ?  " 

Mr.  Tapscott  gave  him  Philip's  address,  saying,  with  a 
brightened  expression,  "  I  am  glad  of  it — glad  of  it !  and  so 
will  his  poor  mother  be." 

"  I  find  my  home  rather  silent  and  hum-drum,"  said  Mr. 
Russell,  as  he  bade  Mr.  Tapscott  good-morning,  "  and  I 
should  like  to  have  Mr.  Ventnor's  wit  and  intelligence  to 
enliven  it  occasionally." 

His  invitation  to  Philip  to  dine  with  him  was  politely 
declined,  but  with  a  formality  and  coldness  that  rather  sur 
prised  him,  when  he  recollected  Philip's  manner  at  Mr. 
Thome's,  and  he  was  a  little  uncertain  what  to  do  next. 

Two  or  three  evenings  after,  Mr.  Russell  had  occasion  to 
see  a  gentleman  on  business  who  was  hi  town  for  a  few 
days ;  and  as  they  walked  together  through  the  hall  of  the 
hotel,  after  their  business  was  over,  sounds  of  revelry  came 
from  one  of  the  smaller  dining-rooms,  as  they  drew  near. 

"  A  party  of  young  men,  of  whom,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  my 
nephew  is  one,  are  giving  a  birthday  supper  to  a  young 
author,"  Mr.  Russell's  friend  explained,  "  and  I  suppose  there 
will  be  a  great  expenditure  of  wit  and  wine  before  the  night 
is  ended." 

Just  as  they  came  opposite  the  door,  it  opened,  as  if  on 
purpose  to  disclose  to  Mr.  Russell  the  flushed  face  of  Philip 
Ventnor,  as  he  was  in  the  act  of  holding  a  glass  aloft,  and 
breaking  into  the  first  strains  of  a  wild  drinking-song.  The 
door  closed  again,  but  all  through  his  walk  home,  and 
through  his  solitary  vigil  by  the  fire,  that  vision  was  before 
his  eyes,  that  wild  strain  sounded  in  his  ears  like  the  dirge 
of  a  lost  spirit ;  and  Philip's  good  angel  might  well  have  re 
joiced  that  night,  through  his  sadness,  at  having  gained  such 
a  determined  ally. 

Immediately  after  dinner  the  next  evening,  Mr.  Russell 

directed  his  steps  to  the  address  Mr.  Tapscott  had  given 

him.     At  the  door,  when  he  was  told  that  Mr.  Yentnor  was 

at  home,  he  hesitated  whether  to  send  up  his  name ;  but  con- 

G* 


130  MAKGAKET  : 

eluded  not  to  .run  the  risk  of  "being  refused,  and  proceeded 
up  the  somewhat  narrow,  ill-lighted  stairs,  to  the  "  fourth- 
story  back." 

"  Come  in,"  Philip's  voice  called  in  answer  to  his  knock, 
and  he  opened  the  door. 

A  dim  light  shone  through  a  blue  haze  of  cigar-smoke, 
and  Philip,  who  lay  on  a  couch  by  the  fire,  turned  his  head 
to  see  who  was  there.  The  instant  recognition  made  him 
spring  to  his  feet,  and  he  stood,  in  dressing-gown  and  slip 
pers,  with  tumbled  hair  and  haggard  face,  before  Mr.  Russell. 
His  look  of  blank  amazement  gave  place  to  a  flush  of  cha 
grin,  as  his  visitor  advanced  towards  him,  and  he  reluctantly 
received  the  offered  hand. 

"  I  hope  I  need  not  apologize  for  coming  up  unannounced," 
said  Mr.  Russell,  who  had  prepared  himself  for  any  manner 
of  reception. 

"Not  at  all.  Pray  sit  down,  sir,"  said  Philip,  attempt 
ing  to  cove'r  his  embarrassment  with  a  formal  politeness. 

"  You  know  we  laid  claim  to  each  other's  friendship  some 
weeks  ago,  and  I  believe  the  claim  was  mutually  admitted. 
I  have  no  intention  of  lightly  relinquishing  my  right.  I 
value  it  too  highly." 

Philip  met  his  eyes  coldly,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  So  after  trying  in  vain  to  lure  you  to  my  solitude,  I 
have  come  to  yours,"  added  Mr.  Russell. 

"You  do  too  serious  despite  to  your  elegant  solitude  by 
naming  it  in  connection  with  mine,"  said  Philip,  casting  his 
eyes  about  the  little  room,  where  utter  disorder  prevailed, 
though  there  were  evident  signs  of  a  refined  and  cultivated 
taste,  in  the  few  choice  engravings  on  the  walls,  and  in  the 
books,  papers,  and  magazines  that  lay  around,  adding  to  the 
general  confusion. 

Mr.  Russell  wondered  if  the  icy  cloak  in  which  Philip 
had  wrapped  himself  would  ever  melt,  and  let  him  see  his 
genial,  frank  self  again.  He  made  no  direct  reply  to  Philip, 
but  said,  "I  had  supposed  that  you  lived  at  your  grand 
father's,  out  of  town ;  and  when  I  learned  to  the  contrary,  I 


•A   6TOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAURIE    HOME.  131 

hoped  you  would  have  a  sufficiently  fellow-feeling  to  dine 
with  me  occasionally,  in  my  bachelor's  hall,  though  I  know 
you  must  have  many  demands  upon  your  time." 

"  I  make  no  visits,"  answered  Philip,  looking  into  the  fire. 

Mr.  Russell,  after  talking  for  some  time  without  much 
encouragement,  happened  to  mention  a  new  book  which  lay 
upon  Philip's  table,  awaiting  a  review ;  and  seeing  that  his 
attention  was  aroused,  he  skilfully  led  him  to  a  discussion 
of  its  subject,  so  that  something  of  the  natural  warmth  and 
animation  came  into  his  face  and  manner.  The  talk  lasted 
some  time,  and  interested  Mr.  Russell  so  much,  that  when 
he  rose  to  go,  he  had  almost  lost  sight  of  the  icy  barrier 
that  had  existed  during  the  first  part  of  the  visit,  and  said, 
"  I  have  an  old  book  in  my  library  that  I  picked  up  years 
ago  in  an  antiquarian  bookstore,  which  treats  the  subject  very 
originally  and  quaintly,  and  when  you  return  my  call,  I  will 
show  it  to  you.  I  hope  I  shall  have  the  opportunity  soon." 

Every  ray  of  warmth  left  Philip's  face  ;  it  became  cold, 
gloomy,  and  haggard,  as  before.  He  stood  silent  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then  said,  "  I  believe  in  plain  speaking  and  frank 
dealing,  and  so  I  must  assure  you  that  I  no  longer  lay  any 
claim  to  your  friendship,  and  do  not  desire  it.  I  fully  appre 
ciate,  and  can  never  forget,  your  kindness  to  my  grandfather, 
and,  through  him,  to  my  mother  and  brother  and  sisters. 
But  save  in  that,  we  are — strangers,  I  had  almost  said  ene 
mies.  You  will  lose  nothing  by  it.  God  knows,  no  man 
need  covet  my  friendship." 

Mr.  Russell  waited  a  moment,  and  then  said,  quietly, 
"  You  cannot  wonder  that  I  beg  to  know  what  has  brought 
about  this  state  of  feeling." 

Philip  instantly  fixed  his  flashing  eyes  on  Mr.  Russell, 
and  his  color  came,  and  his  breath  was  quick  and  sharp,  as 
he  said  in  a  suppressed  voice,  "  Suppose  you  were — not  rich, 
influential,  courted,  as  you  are,  but — poor,  obscure,  dependent 
on  the  daily  labor  of  your  brains  for  your  daily  bread,  your 
home  a  den  like  this,  with  nothing  in  the  wide  world  that 
another  need  covet,  save  the  love  of  one  heart,  the  winning 


132  MARGARET : 

of  -which  was  the  one  thing  that  coiild  make  life  desirable, 
and  for  which  you  would  lay  down  your  life,  yes,  sacrifice 
your  soul,  if  such  a  thing  could  be  ;  moreover,  you  felt  that 
the  love  of  that  heart  was  all  that  could  save  your  soul. 
And  suppose  that  I,  having  every  thing  else  that  could  make 
life  bright  and  desirable,  should  covet  that  one  heart,  and 
set  myself  to  win  it  away  from  you,  bringing  my  wealth, 
and  influence,  and  name,  to  weigh  against  your  devotion :  do 
you  think  that,  after  having  cast  you  out  and  Avon  the  heart, 
or  the  hand  without  the  heart,  if  I  should  come  to  you  with 
the  offer  of  my  friendship,  you  would  accept  it  ?  No,  you 
would  spurn  it,  as  I  do  yours  !  "  and  Philip  made  a  gesture 
as  if  he  were  casting  something  he  despised  under  his  feet, 
while  his  fierce  eyes  never  moved  from  Mr.  Russell's. 

For  several  moments  the  tAvo  stood  motionless,  looking  at 
each  other,  while  the  meaning  of  Philip's  parable  gradually 
dawned  upon  Mr.  Russell's  mind,  and  at  length  a  smile  of 
sorrowful  sympathy  came  into  his  face. 

"  Will  you  bear  with  me  while  I  give  you  a  parable  in 
return  for  yours  ?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  gentle  request  that  impressed 
Philip  like  a  demand  for  justice,  and  he  involuntarily  handed 
Mr.  Russell  a  chair,  and  the  tAvo  sat  down. 

"  Suppose  that,  instead  of  being  twenty-four  or  five  years' 
old,  you  were  thirty-seven ;  and  suppose  that,  long  ago,  Avhen 
life  lay  before  you  beautiful  and  glowing,  you  had  met  your 
ideal  of  womanly  loveliness.  You  gave  all  the  tenderness 
and  devotion  of  which  any  human  heart  Avas  capable,  and 
your  love  seemed  returned  in  full  measure,  and  for  one  happy 
year  you  called  her  yours,  and  looked  to  have  her  by  your 
side  all  through  life.  But  the  year  came  to  an  end,  and 
found  you  desolate,  Avith  an  impenetrable  mystery  enveloping 
the  blighting  of  your  hopes  ;  for  your  love  was  unchanged, 
death  had  not  taken  aAvay  your  idol,  you  knew  her  to  be 
true  and  steadfast  as  the  hills  in  her  nature,  and  she  had  said 
she  loved  you.  Yet  she  had  withdrawn  her  hand  from 
yours,  and  you  AArere  alone,  with  life  before  you  robbed  of  all 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  133 

its  brightness.  You  felt  that  you  could  not  live  near  her 
as  a  stranger,  so  you  left  ycmr  country,  and  for  nine  long 
years  you  were  a  lonely  exile,  bearing  in  your  heart  the  un 
fading  image  of  the  beloved  face,  and  the  perplexing,  har 
rowing,  and  yet  sacredly  cherished  memory  of  every  token 
of  her  truth  and  loveliness,  and  of  her  affection  for  you. 
Then  you  come  back  to  a  home,  which  the  death  of  your 
father  soon  makes  very  cheerless ;  for  your  mother  left  it 
forever  in  the  first  year  of  your  absence,  your  sister  is 
married,  and  your  brother  stayed  behind  in  the  foreign 
land.  You  go  in  and  out  of  your  lonely,  haunted  house, 
memories  of  loved  ones  lost  your  only  heart-companions, 
knowing  no  more  of  the  dwelling-place  of  her  whom  you 
love  than  if  you  were  in  different  worlds.  You  would  be 
happier  to  know  that  she  was  in  heaven,  for  she  could  not  be 
more  lost  to  you  than  she  is  :  and  now  you  are  often  beset 
with  fears,  lest  her  life  may  be  as  joyless  and  desolate  as 
yours.  Then  suppose  that  in  the  course  of  months  you  come 
from  the  silence  and  solitude  of  your  home,  with  that  cher 
ished,  ineffaceable  memory  locked  in  your  heart,  to  meet  a 
fresh,  beautiful  nature,  that  impresses  you  like  the  glad  sun 
shine.  But  you  speedily  see  tokens  of  a  maturity  of  womanly 
feeling,  and  of  power  to  suffer,  that  deepens  your  interest. 
You  know  so  well  what  it  is  to  walk  in  shadow,  that  your 
heart  goes  out  to  those  who  are  threatened  with  shadows ; 
and  that  this  young  life  should  be  so  soon  clouded,  fills 
you  with  pain.  You  see  that  her  fate  is  linked  with  one 
whom  you  know,  whose  rarely  gifted  mind  you  appreciate ; 
and  you  gather  him  and  his  interests  into  your  heart,  re 
solved  that,  if  a  brother's  hand  can  dispel  the  clouds  which 
seem  to  threaten  these  two,  it  shall  be  done.  You  feel  that 
you  have  the  full,  sisterly  confidence  of  the  one,  though  no 
words  have  been  spoken ;  and  you  seek  him  whom  you  yearn 
over  as  if  he  were  indeed  your  young  brother ;  but  he  spurns 
your  offered  friendship,  and  charges  you  with  robbing  him 
of  the  heart  you  know  to  be  his  alone." 

Mr.  Russell  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Philip's,  watching  hia 


134  MAEGAEET. 

changing  expression,  until  his  face  was  buried  in  his  arms 
upon  the  table  ;  and  now  a  convulsive  sob  broke  from  him, 
and  for  many  minutes  he  wept  like  one  heart-broken. 

Mr.  Russell  knew  well  that  many  griefs  were  finding 
vent  in  those  agonizing  tears,  not  the  least  of  which  was  for 
his  own  unworthiness,  and  he  hailed  them  as  a  happy  omen 
of  better  things. 

A  few  words  of  almost  despairing  contrition  and  self- 
condemnation  fell  from  Philip's  lips,  to  which  Mr.  Russell 
replied  with  kindest  sympathy  and  encouragement,  and  then 
left  him,  commending  him  to  the  aid  and  watch-care  of  One 
who  has  all  power  to  save,  and  a  tenderer  than  any  earthly 
pity  for  the  erring.  But  the  next  morning  he  gave  Janet 
instructions  that  the  crimson  room,  with  the  bed-room  open 
ing  out  of  it,  should  be  aired  and  made  ready  for  a  gentle 
man,  who  was  coming  to  make  a  long  visit. 

"  Let  the  sun  shine  in,  Janet,  and  have  a  good  fire,"  was 
his  parting  injunction,  "  and  have  a  particularly  good  din 
ner." 

And  that  very  night  saw  Philip,  much  to  his  own  be 
wilderment,  with  his  books  and  other  belongings,  in  posses 
sion  of  the  crimson  room,  and  sharing  the  peace  and  safety 
of  Mr.  Russell's  fireside ;  feeling  much  as  a  child  may,  who, 
after  being  long  lost,  is  found  and  brought  home. 


CHAPTER  XIIL 

Instruction  sore  long  time  I  bore, 

And  cramming  was  in  vain.  ANON. 

WHEN  Mrs.  More  came  to  live  in  the  house  to  which 
Chloe  introduced  herself  so  unceremoniously,  it  stood  alone 
in  the  midst  of  wood  and  prairie  lands.  Her  husband  was 
an  Englishman,  but  came  to  America  when  a  young  man, 
drawn  by  his  enthusiastic  admiration  for  republican  institu 
tions,  and  his  desire  to  carry  out  his  taste  for  farming,  on  a 
grander  scale  than  he  could  do  at  home.  The  countless  acres 
of  rich  farming  lands  at  the  West  seemed  to  him  the  ultima 
tliule  of  his  wishes,  and  he  intended  to  invest  his  fortune  in 
a  few  hundreds  of  those  acres,  and  devote  his  energies  to 
their  perfect  cultivation. 

His  plans  were  interrupted  for  two  or  three  years,  as, 
when  he  reached  New  York,  he  fell  in  love  with  the  sister 
of  a  gentleman  to  whom  he  brought  letters  of  introduction ; 
and  fearing  that  a  delicately  brought-up  and  accomplished 
girl  would  be  horrified  at  the  idea  of  forsaking  her  home 
and  friends  to  follow  his  fortunes  in  the  wild  West,  he  re 
linquished  his  project  and  went  into  business  in  New  York, 
and  the  wedding  followed  in  a  few  months. 

Business,  and  city-life,  however,  proved  utterly  distaste 
ful,  and  he  sighed  for  the  fulfilment  of  his  vision  of  a  model 
farm,  and  the  free,  untrammelled  enjoyments  of  the  country. 
He  could  not  hide  his  restlessness  from  his  young  wife,  who 
at  length  succeeded  in  convincing  him  that  there  was  no 
place  in  the  wide  world  so  distant  or  so  solitary  that  she 
should  dread  going  to  it  with  him.  Then  he  began  to  make 
his  arrangements  with  an  eager  delight  that  fully  compensa 
ted  her  for  the  sacrifice  of  leaving  her  friends ;  and  six 
months  saw  them  in  possession  of  a  thousand  acres  of 
excellent  land,  keeping  house  in  a  style  that  would  have 


136  MAEGAKET : 

made  their  city  friends  lift  their  hands  in  dismay,  but 
which  they  enjoyed  with  all  the  zest  of  their  young,  brave 
hearts. 

Fortunately,  Mr.  More  united  untiring  energy  and  per 
severance  with  his  enthusiasm  for  what  he  loved,  so  that 
things  steadily  progressed.  Plans  once  conceived,  and  found 
feasible,  were  carried  out  through  every  discouragement,  and 
in  a  few  years  they  had  built  a  comfortable,  tasteful  house, 
and  a  large  part  of  the  thousand  acres  was  made  productive 
and  available. 

Either  Mr.  More's  wisdom,  or  his  good  fortune,  in  the 
choice  of  his  location,  was  proved  by  the  speed  with  which 
railroad  stations  and  little  towns  sprung  up  around  him  ;  and 
when  a  dozen  houses,  a  church,  a  store,  and  a  blacksmith's 
shop,  had  been  built  within  a  mile  or  two  of  his  home,  it  was 
called  Moresville,  in  honor  of  the  first  settler.  It  was  well 
understood  that  there  was  not  to  be  found,  far  or  near,  a 
more  enterprising,  intelligent  farmer,  or  a  wiser  and  kinder- 
hearted  man,  and  that  Mrs.  More  was  unequalled  as  a 
house-keeper,  friend,  and  neighbor.  It  was  therefore  natural 
that  they  should  exert  a  wide  and  strong  influence.  That 
they  did,  was  apparent  in  the  air  of  taste  and  refinement  in 
the  village-homes,  in  the  intelligently-managed  farms,  in  the 
simple,  inexpensive  elegance  of  the  church,  and  the  well- 
ordered  village-school. 

The  passing  years  led  some  of  their  children  to  distant 
homes  of  their  own,  and  others  into  the  silent  land ;  but 
when  they  were  left  alone,  they  sat  down  beside  their  quiet 
but  cheerful  hearthstone,  to  look  back  over  the  forty  years 
of  their  happy  life,  and  wait  for  the  summons  to  a  happier, 
It  came  soon  to  one,  and  the  other  was  left  to  wait  alone ; 
but  she  did  not  murmur,  even  when  the  weeks  grew  to 
months,  and  the  months  to  years.  Her  married  children  all 
begged  for  her  presence  in  their  homes ;  but  she  felt  that  it 
would  be  like  tearing  her  heartstrings  asunder  to  leave  her 
own,  and  she  set  their  minds  at  rest,  as  far  as  she  could,  by 
inviting  the  widow  and  daughter  of  her  husband's  cousin, 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PKAIRIE    HOME.  137 

Mr.  Rice,  who  had  been  the  first  pastor  of  the  village- 
church,  to  cotne  and  live  with  her. 

Mrs.  More  fully  appreciated  the  failings  of  both  Mrs. 
Rice  and  Lucinda,  yet  she  had  no  fear  of  having  her  peace 
disturbed,  either  by  the  somewhat  acrid  temper  of  the  one, 
or  the  sentiinentalism  of  the  other,  when  it  seemed  best  for 
them  to  share  her  home.  She  had  learned,  in  her  long  life, 
to  bear  with  the  faults  and  weaknesses  of  others,  as  she 
would  have  them  bear  with  hers ;  and  so  she  could  smile  at 
them,  or  tenderly  regret  them,  or  give  suggestions  for  their 
conquest,  as  the  case  might  be. 

When  the  Rices  left  England,  Mr.  More's  mother  had 
sent  with  them  a  young  man  and  his  wife,  who  had  been  in 
her  household  from  childhood,  to  take  any  places  for  which 
they  might  be  fitted  in  her  son's  mysterious  Western  m'enage, ; 
and  Thomas  soon  became  Mr.  More's  invaluable  aid  on  the 
farm,  and  Honora  equally  invaluable  in  the  kitchen  and  dairy. 
They  were  too  well-trained  to  get  upset  by  any  peculiarities 
they  might  meet  in  the  native  "  helps,"  and  so  they  proved 
an  unfailing  reliance  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  house 
keeping  in  the  country.  With  regard  to  the  changing  sup 
plies  of  other  posts  in  the  domestic  economy,  they  might 
have  said,  as  they  doubtless  did  in  spirit,  "  They  may  come 
and  they  may  go,  but  we  go  on  forever."  In  course  of  time 
Thomas  came  to  understand  Mr.  More's  wishes  so  well,  that 
he  relieved  him  of  care,  and  spared  Mrs.  More  all  anxiety 
when  she  was  left  alone. 

Chloe's  walking  into  the  quiet  routine  of  the  kitchen  had 
occasioned  a  little  excitement ;  but  her  being  in  a  somewhat 
subdued  state  of  mind,  owing  to  her  terrible  experiences  and 
her  unabating  regret  at  having  lost  "Miss  Marg'et,"  pre 
vented  her  keeping  it  alive,  as  she  might  have  done  if  she 
had  been  in  her  usual  spirits. 

The  special  excitement  occurred  the  morning  after  her 
arrival,  when  she  was  sent  up  to  Miss  Lucinda's  room  to 
kindle  the  fire.  Miss  Lucinda  woke  to  discover  Chloe  sitting 
on  the  floor,  looking  at  her,  the  whites  of  her  eyes  gleaming 


138  MAKGARET  I 

in  a  frightful  manner,  while  her  black  face  and  woolly  head 
gave  her  so  much  the  appearance  of  a  small  goblin  to  the 
sensitive  vision  of  the  young  lady,  that  she  shrieked  frantic 
ally  for  help,  and  her  mother  and  Honora  came  running  to 
know  what  was  the  matter.  They  found  her,  with  her 
double  row  of  curl-papers,  lying  back  on  the  pillow,  her  eyes 
shut,  while  her  finger  pointed  at  Chloe,  who  sat  in  silent 
wonder  before  the  stove. 

Honora  conducted  Chloe  from  the  room  in  disgust, 
declaring  that  Miss  Lucinda  might  make  her  own  fires  after 
this ;  and  Mrs.  Rice  remained  to  deliver  to  the  horrified 
Lucinda  a  lecture  on  common  sense. 

Chloe  speedily  learned  to  love  Mrs.  More — whose  beauty 
she  continued  to  consider  as  second  only  to  "  Miss  Marg'et's  " 
— as  well  as  the  kind,  busy  Honora,  who  appointed  her  easy 
tasks.  These  two  drew  from  her,  at  different  times,  the 
fantastic  yet  pathetic  story  of  her  adventures  with  Simon 
and  Nance,  at  first  with  the  hope  of  gaining  some  clue  to 
her  former  home.  But  they  soon  relinquished  that  hope,  as 
her  journey  had  become  so  exaggerated  to*  her  mind,  that, 
in  dwelling  upon  its  horrors,  she  gave  the  idea  that  weeks 
had  passed  from  the  time  she  was  seized  at  the  gate  till  she 
reached  that  place  of  safety.  When  she  was  asked  how 
long  it  was  after  her  escape  from  the  school-house  that  the 
"  ole  Missus  "  pulled  her  out  of  the  sleigh,  she  replied,  "  Oh, 
I  dunno,  Missus.  I  'specks  it  was  t'ree  days.  I  was  mos' 
done  deaded,  an'  dat's  de  trufe."  So  she  was  regarded  as  a 
permanent  member  of  the  household,  to  be  made  as  happy 
and  good  and  useful  as  possible. 

Chloe's  affection  for  Mrs.  Rice  and  Lucinda  was  rather 
doubtful.  Mrs.  Rice  had  too  many  outside  calls  upon  her 
time  and  thoughts,  to  do  much  more  than  look  at  her  in 
sudden  wonder  whenever  she  encountered  her,  as  if  she 
never  could  cease  to  be  surprised  at  seeing  her  there.  But 
Lucinda's  attention  had  been  concentrated  upon  her  ever 
since  her  recovery  from  that  first  shock.  The  nature  of 
the  interest  she  manifested  may  be  gathered  from  a  few 


A   STOEY  OF   LIFE  m  A  PBAIBIE  HOME.  139 

of  the  many  lines  confided  to  her  beloved  journal   at  the 
time: 

My  soul  in  secret  long  hath  mourned 
That  one  for  some  high  purpose  formed, 
As  so  I  felt  myself  to  be, 
Should  miss  such  lofty  destiny. 

I  would  not,  dare  not,  love  again  ! 
I  could  not  twice  endure  the  pain 
Of  giving  my  heart's  wealth  to  One 
Who'd  cast  me  off  to  weep  alone. 

Ah,  no !  that's  past !    A  mission  high 
I  now  would  have !  and  I  would  vie 
With  lordly  ones  whose  souls  are  bent 
On  loosing  those  in  prison  pent. 

I've  found  a  soul  to  bring  to  light ! 
She's  one  whose  prison's  black  as  night; 
But  though  I  cannot  make  her  skin 
Less  black  than  now,  I  can  let  in 

Such  hope  and  joy  as  knowledge  brings, 
And  cause  to  grow  such  strong,  free  wings, 
That  she  will  soar  aloft  with  those 
Who  would  the  gates  of  progress  close 

From  all  whose  dark-hued  brows  proclaim 
The  dye  of  Afric's  burning  clime — • 
Who  think  but  those  whose  brows  are  fair 
Are  worthy  of  Heaven's  light  and  air. 

With  beating  heart  I  hail  the  day 

That  sent  this  dark-skinned  waif  this  way; 

And  future  years  may  tell  her  story 

In  lofty  strains  of  swelling  glory. 

The  lover  to  whom  the  poem  alluded  was  a  myth  to  every 
body  except  Lucinda  herself.  Her  family  knew  that  on  a 
certain  day  she  retired  to  the  privacy  of  her  own  room,  and 
remained  there,  wrapped  in  gloom  and  a  dressing-gown,  for 
some  days ;  but  nobody  knew  who  was  the  hard-hearted  one 
to  whom  she  sometimes  darkly  alluded,  and  nobody  knew 
what  caused  her  suddenly  to  emerge  from  her  solitude,  and 
tread  the  paths  of  every-day  life  again.  The  fact  was,  that 


140  MAEGAHET I 

she  had  conceived  the  cheering  idea  of  finding  a  mission,  tc 
take  the  place  of  her  lost  love,  and  nothing  could  have  been 
more  opportune  than  Chloe's  advent.  She  at  once  accepted 
the  child's  mental  and  moral  elevation  as  her  much-desired 
destiny,  and  began  to  pursue  it  with  a  vigor  that  increased 
Chloe's  bewilderment,  and  filled  Honora's  sensible  soul  with 
secret  derision. 

One  morning  Lucinda  appeared  at  the  door  of  the  store 
room,  where  Honora  was  inspecting  her  preserves  and  pickles. 
"  Where  is  Chloe,  Honora  ?  "  she  asked,  in  melancholy  tones. 

"  She  is  in  the  back-kitchen,  cleaning  knives,  Miss," 
answered  Honora ;  "  leastways,  that's  where  I  left  'er  ten 
minutes  ago." 

"Honora,  I  am  surprised  that  she  should  be  cleaning 
knives,  when  it  is  a  full  half-hour  after  her  appointed  time 
for  coming  to  me  !  " 

"  You  can  'ardly  expect  a  hignorant  woman  like  me  to 
remember  that  a  little  niggro  child  'as  appointed  hours," 
replied  Honora,  moving  her  pots  about  energetically. 

"  I  do  think  you  should  refrain  from  giving  her  tasks  that 
will  interfere  with  my  plans  for  her  education,"  answered 
Lucinda,  thinking,  as  she  proceeded  to  the  back-kitchen,  how 
much  she  had  to  contend  with  in  her  mission  of  love. 

Chloe  was  scouring  away  busily,  with  her  head  bent  over 
so  that  she  did  not  see  or  hear  Lucinda,  who  wore  thin  kid 
slippers,  till  she  stood  close  by  and  spoke  her  name. 

Chloe  started,  and  stood  with  her  hands  dropped  at  her 
sides,  a  knife  in  one  hand  and  her  scourer  in  the  other,  look 
ing  at  Lucinda. 

"  Chloe,  don't  you  know  that  it  is  half-past  eleven 
o'clock  ?  and  eleven  is  the  hour  for  your  lessons  to  com 
mence." 

"  Miss  Jenkums  tole  me  to  clean  dem  ar  knifes,"  answered 
Chloe,  dropping  her  eyes  to  the  toe  of  her  shoe,  which  she 
began  to  dig  into  the  floor. 

"  Stop,  child — stand  still,"  said  Lucinda,  mildly,  for  mild 
ness  was  one  of  the  rules  she  had  adopted  in  her  system ; 


A   STORY    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  14:1 

and  Chloe  let  her  toes  rest,  but  began  to  twist  her  tongue 
about. 

"  Now,  don't  use  your  tongue  in  such  a  manner,  Chloe ; 
you  will  find  plenty  of  use  for  it  when  you  come  to  say  your 
lessons.  Why  did  you  not  say  you  had  an  engagement  with 
me,  when  Honora  set  you  to  do  those  knives  ?  " 

"  Dunno,  Miss." 

"  Don't  say  '  dunno,1  child ;  say,  '  I  do  not  know.'  How 
many  times  must  I  tell  you  that  before  you  will  remember 
it?" 

"  Dunno ; "  and  then,  .realizing  that  she  had  offended 
again,  she  began  both  to  dig  her  toes  and  twist  her  tongue. 

"  Oh,  disheartening  child !  what  can  I  do  with  you  ? 
But  finish  your  work  now,  and  then  come  to  me  in  the 
sitting-room." 

So  Chloe  was  left  to  finish  her  task  in  peace.  For  about 
two  minutes  she  indulged  herself  in  all  sorts  of  antics  and 
contortions,  that  would  have  made  Lucinda  utterly  hopeless ; 
then  she  addressed  herself  to  making  the  knives  shine,  while 
her  feet,  and  her  head  with  its  little  bobbing  tufts  of  wool, 
kept  time  with  her  hands,  and  she  discoursed  to  herself  in 
the  following  fashion  :  "  Oh,  laus,  laus  !  I  nebber  did  see  de 
likes  of  dat  ar  Miss  'Cinder.  'Pears  like  I  can't  do  nuffin 
'tall.  What's  dat  ar  she  tole  me  'bout  de-gagemum  long  o' 
her  ?  I  declar  I  dunno — dat  ar  ain't  um — oh,  laus !  I  do 
dunno,  an'  dat's  de  trufe." 

In  the  meantime  Lucinda  had  gone  to  the  sitting-room, 
and  nothing  could  be  more  cheerful  and  comfortable  than 
that  room  in  a  winter's  day.  The  prevailing  color  was  a 
warm  crimson ;  and  the  furniture,  though  old-fashioned,  was 
rich  and  well  preserved;  and  the  deep  fireplace,  with  its 
blazing  logs  and  shining  andirons,  the  stand  of  geraniums 
and  roses  in  one  of  the  windows,  with  the  sun  resting  on 
them,  all  helped  to  make  it  a  most  attractive  place.  Mrs. 
More,  too,  in  her  rocking-chair  on  one  side  of  the  fire,  with 
the  vacant  chair  opposite,  added  to  its  quiet  charm.  But  it 
could  not  be  said  that  Lucinda  did,  when  she  came  and  stood 


142  MARGARET  : 

near  Mrs.  More.  Her  pale-green  delaine  did  not  harmonize 
with  the  warm  tone  of  the  room,  neither  did  her  pale  com 
plexion,  pale  eyes,  and  lustreless  brown  hair,  which  she  wore 
in  curls,  with  an  artificial  rosebud  arranged  to  look  as  if  it 
were  just  going  to  fall  out,  though  in  reality  it  was  tied  in. 

"  Aunt  More,"  she  said,  "  I  must  beg  you  to  give  Honora 
orders  about  Chloe.  This  is  the  second  time  that  she  has 
been  performing  some  servile  task  when  I  was  ready  to  teach 
her." 

"  I  suppose  Honora  thinks  it  important  that  she  should 
know  how  to  do  useful  things,  as  well  as  how  to  read  and 
write,"  replied  Mrs.  More,  looking  up  from  her  book. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  aunt !  is  an  illiterate  woman  to  decide 
what  is  most  important  ?  If  the  body  is  first,  well  and 
good ;  but  if  the  soul,  I  must  have  a  chance  to  enlighten  it. 
It  will  be  difficult  at  the  best." 

"  I  fear  so,  my  dear,  for  both  you  and  Chloe,  as  you  are 
undertaking  to  do  it  now,"  said  Mrs.  More  gently. 

"  I  am  sure  my  plan  is  the  true  one,"  replied  Lucinda, 
going  to  the  plants  and  bending  her  curls  over  them.  She 
always  fled  to  Nature  when  she  felt  herself  unappreciated. 

Presently  Mrs.  Rice  came  in.  She  sat  down  near  the  fire, 
and  proceeded  to  untie  her  bonnet-strings  in  gloomy  silence. 
Mrs.  More  laid  by  her  book  and  took  her  knitting,  saying, 
"  "Well,  Rachel,  what  success  have  you  had  ?  "  and  Lucinda 
sat  down  to  listen,  with  a  blossom  to  smell  of. 

"  Don't  ask  me  !  The  world  is  clean  given  over  to  greed 
and  covetousness,  and  I  am  ashamed  to  live  in  it." 

"  Why,  wouldn't  any  body  give  you  any  thing,  ma  ?  " 
asked  Lucinda. 

"  I  have  been  this  whole  blessed  morning,"  said  Mrs. 
Rice  vehemently,  "getting  in  and  out  of  that  sleigh,  and 
have  just  got  nothing  worth  naming.  Every  body  has  plenty 
to  spend,  it's  plain  to  see,  but  it's  on  gimcracks  for  their 
houses,  and  furbelows  and  fandangoes  to  pile  on  themselves. 
Come  to  ask  them  for  money  for  the  missionaries,  and  they 
give  little  mites  that  are  worse  than  nothing," 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIKIE   HOME.  143 

"  Christ  did  not  despise'  the  mites,  Rachel,"  said  Mrs. 
More. 

"  No ;  but  it  was  the  widows'  mites,"  replied  Mrs.  Rice. 
"  That's  one  thing,  and  it's  another  when  it  comes  from  rich 
men  and  their  wives." 

"  I  am  sure  I  didn't  know  there  were  any  rich  people  in 
our  church,"  said  Lucinda. 

"  There  are  plenty,"  replied  Mrs.  Rice,  "  who  live  in 
good  houses,  and  dress  their  wives  and  daughters  like  pup 
pets.  There's  Mr.  Armstrong ;  he  had  the  face  to  tell  me 
that  he  couldn't  afford  to  give  me  any  thing  just  now.  And 
look  at  his  wife  and  children  of  a  Sunday !  " 

"  I  think  they  have  very  few  new  things,  and  I  know  that 
Mr.  Armstrong  gave  quite  a  large  sum  to  the  agent  when  he 
preached  here,"  said  Mrs.  More. 

"He  did,  did  he?  Well,  if  that's  the  way  I'm  to  be 
treated !  He  knew  that  I  was  the  collector  for  our  church, 
and  what  business  had  he  to  give  his  money,  except  into  my 
hands  ?  " 

"  Where  else  did  you  go,  ma  ?  "  asked  Lucinda. 

"  Go  !  I  went  clear  out  to  Keziah  Kinney's,  and  to  every 
house  between  there  and  the  village  ;  and  poor  enough  pay  I 
got  for  my  pains.  That  Mrs.  Kinney !  she  unblushingly  gave 
me  fifty  cents  !  " 

"  She  is  a  widow,  you  know,  Rachel." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that ;  and  I  know  that  she's  got  a  bran- 
new  green  satin  bonnet,  all  decked  off — and  that,  if  she'd 
have  put  the  price  of  those  bows  and  feathers  and  artificial 
flowers  into  my  hands,  she'd  have  done  better.  But,  thank 
goodness,  I  ain't  accountable  for  any  body's  sins  but  my 
own ; "  and  Mrs.  Rice  took  off  her  bonnet,  with  a  face  full 
of  indignation  at  every  body's  sins  except  her  own. 

"  Well,  now !  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  turned  towards  the 
door,  "  I  never !  Just  see  that  child !  "  And  Mrs.  More  and 
Lucinda  turned,  and  saw  Chloe  standing  behind  them,  her 
feet  and  tongue  busy. 

"  Why  didn't    you  tell    me   you  were  there  ? "    asked 


MAEGAEET : 

V 

Lucinda,  opening  the  door  for  her,  and  following  her  from 
the  room. 

Mrs.  Rice  looked  after  them,  remarking  to  Mrs.  More, 
"  It  beats  me,  cousin,  to  think  you  should  keep  that  creature 
in  the  house,  when  you've  no  earthly  use  for  her ;  it  just 
gives  Lucinda  a  notion  to  waste  her  time  on." 

"  It  is  one  of  my  mites,  Rachel,"  answered  Mrs.  More. 

Lucinda's  room 'would  have  been  a  very  pleasant  one, 
but  for  the  fact  that  she  delighted  in  a  "  dim  religious  light." 
A  "  gaudy  glare  "  of  sunshine  was  something  she  could  not 
abide ;  and  if  a  stray  gleam  ever  ventured  into  her  private 
apartment,  it  was  quickly  shut  out. 

Chloe  always  felt  as  if  she  were  going  into  a  dark  closet 
when  she  entered  that  room,  and  the  darkness  that  affected 
her  spirits  may  have  affected  her  mind ;  for  certain  it  is,  that 
as  yet  she  had  rather  grown  uncertain  of  what  she  did  know, 
than  learned  any  thing  new.  Lucinda  felt  very  much  ag 
grieved  when  she  found  that  Chloe  was  not  utterly  benight 
ed — that  she  knew  who  made  her,  and  could  even  say  a 
simple  prayer,  and  knew  some  of  her  letters ;  and  she  be 
came  so  tired  of  hearing  Miss  Marg'et  quoted  on  all  possible 
occasions,  that  she  pathetically  requested  Chloe  not  to  men 
tion  the  name  again. 

"  Come  in,  Chlorinda,"  said  Lucinda — for  she  had  decided 
to  give  her  a  more  refined  name  during  the  process  of  her 
mental  discipline. 

Chlorinda  had  stopped  at  the  door,  but  now  came  for 
ward  and  took  her  place  before  her  teacher,  who  sat  in  an 
imposing  arm-chair  which  she  had  brought  from  the  garret. 

"  Now  let  me  hear  what  the  last  lesson  was  about." 

Chlorinda's  toes  started  to  her  assistance,  but  were  in 
stantly  checked. 

"  There,  stand  still,  Chlorinda ;  don't  let  your  manners 
run  riot  while  your  mind  is  bein^  educated.  Well,  what 

»  O  * 

was  the  lesson  about  ?  " 
"  Dunno." 
'"Don't  know,'  you  mean.     Well,  look  at  this  that  I 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PKAIRIE   HOME.  145 

hold  in  my  hand,  and  listen  while  I  spell  it  for  you  a»  1  did 
yesterday,  and  then  you  will  tell  me  what  it  spells.  D-o-g." 

Chloe  looked  at  the  little  tin  toy  her  missionary  held  up 
at  arm's-length  for  her  inspection,  but  could  not  distinguish 
it  clearly  in  the  dim  light;  so  she  said  "Hoss" — not  finding 
any  aid  from  the  letters  that  had  been  uttered. 

"  No,  Chlorinda,  it  is  not  a  horse  ;  d-o-g  spells  dog.  N  ow, 
what  is  this  I  hold  in  my  hand  ?  " 

"  A  apple,"  answered  Chloe,  briskly. 

"No,  Chlorinda,  not  a  apple,  but  an  apple.  When  a 
vowel  follows  the  article,  it  is  an  instead  of  a  /  but  we  will 
leave  that  till  another  time,  when  we  are  prepared  to  take 
up  grammar.  An  apple,  then,  is  a  kind  of  fruit  which  grows 
on  a  tree.  The  first  apple  is  mentioned  in  the  Bible,  and 
occasioned  the  fall  of  our  first  parents.  Only  think,  Chlo 
rinda,  an  apple  like  this  tempted  our  first  parents  to  sin. 
Who  were  our  first  parents — the  father  and  mother  of  the 
whole,  human  race  ?  There,  stand  still,  Chlorinda." 

But  Chlorinda's  eyes  had  been  wandering  with  her 
thoughts,  and  had  caught  sight  of  a  cotton-wool  doll  that 
Lucinda  had  bought  at  a  fair  for  a  pin-cushion ;  and  utterly 
oblivious  of  every  thing  except  her  curiosity  to  know  what 
this  first  imago  of  humanity  that  she  had  ever  seen  could  be, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Oh,  Miss  'Cinder,  what's  dat  ar  ?  Won't 
you  please  to  le'mme  see  dat  ar  little  missus  ?  " 

Lucinda's  surprise  at  her  mission's  audacity  knew  no 
bounds.  "Such  disregard  of  all  rules  of  decorum!"  She 
sat  looking  at  Chloe  for  some  moments  in  silence,  when, 
having  made  up  her  mind  what  course  to  pursue,  she  rose 
from  her  chair  and  produced  a  handkerchief  from  a  drawer, 
which  she  tied  over  Chlorinda's  eyes,  telling  her  very  mildly, 
that  if  she  made  any  noise  she  should  tie  another  over  her 
mouth;  then  she  put  the  cotton- wool  doll  on  the  table,  and 
placed  Chloe  before  it. 

"Now,  Chlorinda,  the  doll  which  excited  your  undue 
furiosity  is  right  before  you,  within  reach  of  your  hand ; 
this  is  your  punishment  for  your  disrespect  to  me,  and  your 


146  MAKGARET. 

indulgence  of  one  of  the  worst  foibles  of  which  you  could 
be  guilty.  Stand  there  till  I  take  off  your  bandage." 

Lucinda  sat  down,  with  a  red  and  gilt  Tolume  of  Tup- 
per's  Proverbial  Philosophy  to  while  away  the  interim  in  her 
teaching.  While  she  skimmed  lightly  over  her  favorite 
passages,  and  Chloe  stood  opening  and  shutting  her  eyes 
under  the  bandage,  clutching  her  dress  with  her  hands  to 
keep  them  from  grasping  the  forbidden  object,  there  came  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  Honora's  head  appeared. 

"  Miss  Lucinda,"  she  said,  while  her  eyes  discerned  Chloe 
in  her  disgrace,  "  your  ma  wants  you  irnmejately.  She  is  in 
a  desprit  'urry." 

Lucinda  looked  discomposed,  but  rose  and  laid  her  book 
down,  saying,  "  Chloe,  I  shall  only  be  gone  a  moment ;  I 
expect  you  not  to  move  till  I  come  back ; "  and  she  left  the 
room. 

A  moment  after,  Honora  came  back  and  lifted  the  hand 
kerchief  from  Chloe's  eyes,  with  a  derisive  laugh. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Chloe  ?  What  have  you  been  do 
ing  so  'orrid  ?  " 

The  room  seemed  light  compared  with  the  previous  dark 
ness,  and  Chloe's  eyes  quickly  rested  on  the  doll.  "  It's  dat 
ar ;  I  wanted  to  take  dat  little  missus ; "  and  Chloe  pointed 
at  it,  clutching  her  dress  again. 

"  Well,  for  goodness  sakes,,  take  it,  child ;  "  and  Honora 
thrust  it  into  her  hands.  Chloe  examined  it  in  great  amaze 
ment,  but  in  a  moment  Lucinda's  step  was  heard  on  the 
stairs,  and  Honora  replaced  the  bandage  and  the  doll,  and 
telling  Chloe  not  to  mind,  that  she  should  have  a  doll  for 
herself,  left  the  room  as  Lucinda  entered. 

"  Have  you  stood  still,  Chlorinda  ?  Did  you  touch  any 
thing  ?  " 

Chloe  dug  her  toes  and  contorted  a  little,  and  then  an 
swered,  "  I  tetched  dat  ar,  an'  dat's  de  trufe." 

"Well, then,  you  must  stand  twice  as  lofeg  as  you  have," 
answered  Lucinda,  and  she  seated  herself  with  her  book. 
"I  regret  to  see  you  show  such  a  lack  of  self-control." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  face  the  most  fair  to  our  vision  allowed, 

Is  the  face  we  encounter  and  lose  in  the  crowd.    OWEN  MEREDITH. 

"  Now  clean  up  them  things,  an'  don't  be  long  about  it. 
neither,"  Mrs.  Kinney  said  to  Betty  one  morning,  pointing 
to  the  dishes  she  had  been  using  ;  and  then  she  took  a  panful 
of  doughnuts  and  another  of  cookies,  one  under  each  arm, 
and  trudged  out  of  the  kitchen  with  them. 

Mrs.  Kinney,  having  placed  the  contents  of  the  pans  in 
two  huge  stoife  jars,  which  she  kept  in  the  dark  recesses  of 
her  bedroom-closet,  took  off  her  apron  and  cross-barred 
muslin  cap,  preparatory  to  improving  her  appearance,  when, 
suddenly  remembering  that  she  had  not  looked  into  the 
parlor  since  she  sent  Betty  in  to  fix  the  fire,  she  hastened  to 
see  if  she  had  dropped  any  chips  on  the  carpet.  As  her 
search  was  fruitless,  there  not  being  a  spick  or  a  speck  to  be 
found  anywhere,  she  merely  put  her  head  inside  the  kitchen- 
door  to  see  that  Betty  was  busy. 

"You  be  quick  with  them  things,  Betsey  Jane;  it's 'most 
time  to  put  on  the  dinner,"  and  returned  to  her  bedroom  to 
go  on  with  her  toilet. 

"  Sakes  alive  ! "  she  ejaculated,  as  she  looked  in  the  little 
glass  that  hung  over  the  bureau,  "  ef  I  ha'n't  gone  an'  been 
an'  let  that  minx  see  me  without  my  cap  on  !  "  and  she  put 
both  her  hands  on  her  head,  as  if  she  thought  it  might  not 
be  too  late,  even  then,  to  prevent  disclosures. 

She  labored  under  the  delusion  that  nobody  knew  that 
the  reddish-black  hair,  which  came  to  such  a  sharp  point  at 
the  top  of  her  forehead,  and  ended  in  three  little  stiff  curls  on 
each  side,  was  not  as  natural  to  her  head  as  the  thick  iron- 
gray  locks,  the  tips  of  which  always  showed  a  little  below 
her  cap  behind. 

"Gracious  !  "  she  exclaimed  again,  still  holding  her  hands 


148  MAKGABET  : 

to  her  head.  "  That  Betsey  Jane  '11  go  an'  tell  all  creation 
what  she's  seen  !  "Whatever — but  there !  it's  no  use  cryin 
over  spilt  milk,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  if  she  does  tell 
'em  ;  let  her,  if  she  wants  to  ;  "  and  with  no  other  sign  of  a 
disturbed  mind  than  the  jerky  way  in  which  she  handled 
whatever  she  touched,  she  proceeded  to  array  herself  in  a 
yellowish  brown  dress,  a  cap  gayly  decked  with  pink  satin 
bows,  and  a  very  large  lace  collar.  If  she  was  satisfied  with 
the  tout  ensemble,  that  was  enough,  even  though,  being  quite 
short  and  scant  in  the  skirt,  the  gown  made  her  look  rather 
more  bunchy  than  usual,  and  the  pink  ribbons  were  not  quite 
suited  to  her  sallow  complexion. 

Having  locked  the  closet-door  and  put  the  key  under  the 
pillow — she  changed  its  hiding-place  every  time  she  locked 
the  door — she  took  her  knitting,  and,  with  the  air  of  a  pudgy 
princess,  shut  herself  in  the  parlor,  lifted  the  curtain  about 
an  inch  to  look  out,  and  then  sat  down  with  her  feet  on  the 
fender  of  the  Franklin  stove,  and  began  to  knit. 

For  about  a  half-hour  Mrs.  Kinney  sat  alone,  sometimes 
knitting  energetically,  and  sometimes  pausing  to  cast  a  com 
placent  look  upon  'her  surroundings ;  and  they  were  such  as 
her  soul  delighted  in.  Every  thing  had  an  air  of  severe  order 
and  good  preservation, — the  striped  green  and  yellow  and 
black  carpet,  the  very  same  that  she  had  begun  housekeep 
ing  with,  the  six  shining  mahogany  chairs  that  stood  at  reg 
ular  intervals  against  the  wall,  and  the  red  and  yellow  table- 
spread  and  astral  lamp,  and  the  tall  brass  candlesticks  and 
gay  china  vases  on  the  mantel.  On  the  wall,  with  its  gayly 
flowered  paper,  hung  the  portraits  of  herself  and  Mr.  Kin 
ney,  painted  by  a  travelling  artist  some  years  before  Mr. 
Kinney  died,  which  had  always  been  considered  "  wonderful 
good  likenesses"  by  the  originals,  though  their  acquaintances 
looked  in  vain,  whenever  they  were  permitted  to  look  at  all, 
for  any  resemblance.  Mrs.  Jarley  would  have  been  more 
likely  to  recognize  them  as  portraits  of  some  of  her  wax- 
figures. 

In  the  midst  of  one  of  her  contemplations,  the  sound  of 


A.   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  14:9 

footsteps  in  the  next  room  caught  her  ear ;  and  while  yet 
the  look  of  blank  horror  was  on  her  face,  the  door  opened, 
and  Mr.  Skinner  came  in,  with  the  pinched,  blue  appearance 
of  a  thin-blooded  person  after  a  long  cold  ride. 

"  Shut  that  door  ! "  Mrs.  Kinney  screamed  to  Betty,  who, 
having  admitted  Mr.  Skinner,  still  stood  holding  the  knob, 
as  if  she  could  not  bear  to  tear  herself  away  with  only  that 
little  bit  of  satisfaction  for  her  curiosity.  She  had  no  doubt^ 
of  his  being  the  expected  guest,  but  why  any  such  fuss 
should  be  made  for  him,  was  a  mystery  she  needed  to  have 
solved. 

When  Betty  was  gone,  Mrs.  Kinney  took  up  her  knit 
ting,  having  cast  a  wrathful  glance  at  her  visitor,  that  made 
him  stop  midway  between  her  and  the  door,  and  changed 
the  beaming  smile  with  which  he  had  been  regarding  her  to 
the  most  sheepishly  downcast  expression. 

"  Whatever  you  come  to  that  back  door  for's  mor'n  I 
know,"  were  the  first  words  with  which  she  greeted  him. 
"  Ef  you  wanted  to  see  Betsey  Jane,  fer  goodness  sakes  why 
didn't  you  stay  in  the  kitchen — not  come  in  here,  a-trackin' 
up  my  bettermost  carpet  ?  " 

Mr.  Skinner  lifted  up  first  one  foot  and  then  the  other,  to 
see  if  there  was  any  snow  under  it ;  and  as  there  was  none, 
and  more  especially  as  a  hasty  glance  around  the  room  had 
advised  him  of  its  grandeur,  which  was  as  new  to  him  as  if 
he  had  not  put  up  there  for  ten  days  after  New- Year's,  he 
took  courage  to  say,  "  I — I'm  sure  I  have  no  wish  in  life  to 
see  any  body  but  you.  Oh,  look  not  so  distant  and  forbidding 
upon  your  humble  servant,  my  dear  friend." 

"  Don't  '  my  dear'  me,  if  you  please,  sir ; "  and  Mrs.  Kin 
ney  tossed  her  pink  bows  in  the  most  indignant  manner ; 
"it's  gen'ally  presumed  to  be  proper  for  pussons  to  come  to 
the  front  door  when  they  come  a  visitin',  partic'larly  ef  they 
hcv  designs.  But  it's  all  one  an'  the  same  to  me,  I'm  sure  ; " 
and  she  knit  away  in  grim  disregard  of  the  fact  that  her  guest 
was  still  standing. 

He  took  a  step  towards  her,  holding  his  hat  with  both 
hands. 


150  MAKGAEET ! 

"  I  would  ruther  have  come  to  the  front  door,  and  project 
ed  myself  into  your  fair  presence,  but  I  too  wividly  recalled 
your  oft-capitulated  injunctions  to  enter  at  the  back  door;  and, 
my  dear — I  would  say  I  did  wiolence  to  my  feelin's,  and  sub 
mitted  to  be  brung  to  this  aujence  by  a  menial.  Oh,  dear  ob 
ject  of  my  affections,  may  I  ventur'  to  hope  that  you  will 
oversee  my  offence,  and  restore  me  back  again  to  favor  once 
more  ?  " 

Mrs.  Kinney  was  really  very  much  softened  by  this  fervent 
appeal,  but  it  would  not  do  to  succumb  too  readily;  so  she 
replied,  "  I  don't  know's  I  will.  I  don't  know  whatever  on 
the  face  of  the  airth  you  come  back  here  at  all  fer,  to  either 
door.  It  beats  me  how  these  men  will  stick  round.  It  was 
jest  so  with  Tobias  Kinney,"  and  she  shook  her  pink  bows 
with  irresistible  effect — at  least,  it  would  seem  so,  for  Mr. 
Skinner  at  once  stooped  over  and  set  his  hat  on  the  floor,  and 
having  possessed  himself  of  a  chair,  sat  down  near  Mrs.  Kin 
ney,  and  with  a  smile  that  was  meant  to  be  very  tender,  said, 
"  Oh  !  do  you  ask  me  what  I  come  here  for  ?  oh  " — 

"  Oh,  go  'long  !  don't  be  silly,  fer  pity's  sake  " — and  the 
coquettish  Mrs.  Kinney  braced  her  feet  against  the  stove,  and 
gave  her  chair  a  shove  back  ;  but  her  tone  was  such  that  Mr. 
Skinner  felt  free  to  follow  her. 

"  Oh  !  words  cannot  inform  you  what  egonies  of  mind  I 
have  underwent  sence  I  bid  you  adoo  a  week  ago  to-day. 
Oh !  do  not  keep  me  in  suspense  no  longer." 

"  I  ain't  a  keepin'  ef  you  in  suspense.  What  folderols  ! 
It  beats  me  what  you're  a-drivin'  at." 

Mr.  Skinner  coughed  and  rubbed  his  knees,  and  was  very 
nearly  at  his  wit's-end,  not  being  in  the  least  able  to  fathom 
Mrs.  Kinney's  perversities ;  but  there  was  too  much  at  stake 
for  him  to  give  it  up  without  a  desperate  effort ;  so,  hitching 
his  chair  a  little  nearer,  he  began :  "  Oh !  recall  to  your  recol 
lection  our  last  interview,  at  which  I  laid  my  hand  and  heart, 
and  all  of  my  possessions  at  your  feet,  and  what  you  said, 
which  it  was,  that  you  Avould  not  give  me  a  concise  answer 
then,  but  if  I  would  call  to-day,  you  would  do  it." 


A   8TOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  151 

"Do  what,  fer  the  sakes  alive  ?"  and  Mrs.  Kinncy  looked 
m  pretended  mystification  at  Mr.  Skinner,  who  began  to  feel 
utterly  hopeless. 

"  Which  it  was,  that  you  would  tell  me  whether  you 
would  accept  'em — them  things  I  'numerated." 

"  Accept  of  'em  !  an'  in  the  name  of  natur'  what  be  I  to 
do  with  'em  ef  I  do  accept  of  'em  ?  " 

Mr.  Skinner's  chin  dropped,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  on 
Mrs.  Kinney,  with  the  blankest  expression  for  a  moment. 
Then  the  solution  of  the  difficult  problem  dawned  upon  him, 
and  rubbing  his  knees  gently,  he  replied,  "  Marry  'em." 

This  coming  to  the  point  was  what  she  had  been  endeav 
oring  to  drive  her  admirer  to  do  all  the  time,  and  yet  she 
dropped  her  knitting,  and  fell  back  in  the  chair,  with  every 
appearance  of  having  been  taken  entirely  by  surprise,  as 
much  so  as  if  the  subject  had  never  been  presented  to  her 
before. 

Another  hitch  of  Mr.  Skinner's  chair  brought  him  near 
enough  to  take  one  of  the  hands  that  hung  so  limp  at  each 
side. 

"Oh  !"  he  exclaimed,  "best  of  females,  have  I  been  too 
suddent  in  my  overtoors  ?  Oh  !  fair  Keziah,  will  you  have 
me?" 

"Yes,"  the  fair  Keziah  replied  promptly,  and  in  her 
naturally  distinct  tones,  but  without  opening  her  eyes  or 
moving  from  her  touching  posture. 

"  Oil !  when  ?  name  the  blissful  day,"  exclaimed  the 
ecstatic  Mr.  Skinner,  his  eyes  taking  a  turn  around  the  room 
while  he  listened  for  the  answer. 

"A  week  from  to-day,"  replied  tLe  fairest;  and  she  had 
just  unclosed  her  eyes  to  look  at  Mr.  Skinner,  who,  in  his 
speechless  surprise,  had  dropped  her  hand,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  Benjamin  Truffles  appeared. 

Of  course,  Mrs.  Kinney  was  herself  again  at  once,  and 
started  up,  screaming,  "You  rascal!  you  villain!  you  good- 
for-nothing  !  you  Benjamin  Truffles  I  What  be  you  a-doin' 
here  ?  " 


152  MAKGABET : 

"  I  come  to  see  ef  you'd  bony  ma  your  quiltin'  frames,'* 
answered  Benjamin,  whose  equanimity  was  not  easily  dis 
turbed,  and  who  had  been  taking  a  look  around  the  room  he 
was  so  seldom  permitted  to  enter. 

"  No,  I  won't,  an'  that's  the  end  on't.  I  hate  folks  as  is 
allers  borryin,  an'  you  can  go  home  an'  tell  her  so.  Go  'long 
with  you."  And  Mrs.  Kinney,  having  laid  aside  once  and 
for  all  the  touching  character  in  which  she  had  appeared  for 
a  short  time,  lifted  her  hands  as  if  about  to  drive  intruding 
pigs  from  her  garden,  and  ran  towards  Benjamin,  who  disap 
peared  from  the  room.  At  the  same  instant  the  kitchen-door 
shut  softly,  and  when  Mrs.  Kinney  opened  it,  Betty  was 
quietly  dishing  the  dinner. 

Mr.  Skinner  stayed  to  dinner,  and  enjoyed  it  very  much, 
notwithstanding  that  his  betrothed  was  too  much  out  of 
temper  to  add  the  charm  of  amiable  conversation  to  that  of 
the  viands.  It  was  fortunate  for  him,  perhaps,  that  he  was 
quite  independent  of  that  accompaniment  to  his  meals. 

When  dinner  was  over,  he  was  told,  rather  peremptorily, 
considering  the  newness  of  his  relations  to  Mrs.  Kinney,  to 
go  away  and  not  come  back  till  the  v/edding-day ;  and  when 
he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Kinney  bade  her  man  bring  round  the 
sleigh,  as  she  was  going  to  Moresville  to  do  some  errands. 
In  her  usual  mufflings  she  set  forth.  Having  despatched  her 
smaller  affairs,  she  drove  to  the  minister's  house,  which  was 
next  to  the  blacksmith's  shop,  and,  making  her  way  carefully 
to  the  door,  she  knocked,  and  then  stood  gazing  at  two  other 
sleighs  that  were  in  a  line  with  hers,  quite  filling  the  space 
between  the  minister's  gate  and  the  door  of  the  shop.  The 
one  in  front  of  hers  was  Mrs.  More's,  and  that  lady  and  Mrs. 
Rice  were  in  it,  talking  to  Henry  Newton,  who  was  on  the 
sidewalk.  The  people  in  the  third  sleigh,  which  stood  before 
the  shop,  had  evidently  stopped  to  have  one  of  the  horses 
shod  ;  for  Mr.  Newton  was  busy  with  his  tools,  while  the 
gentleman  of  the  party  was  talking  to  the  ladies  in  the 
sleigh. 

*'  It  looks  like  a  weddin',"  thought  Mrs.  Kinney,  as  she 


A  STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE    HOME.  153 

cast  an  admiring  look  at  the  array  of  teams  ;  and  it  suddenly 
occurred  to  her  that  she  would  give  her  invitation  to  Mrs. 
More  and  Mrs.  Rice  then  and  there,  and  save  herself  time 
and  trouble.  So,  saying  to  the  girl,  who  had  l>y  that  time 
opened  the  door  for  her,  "  You  jest  wait  a  minute ;  I'll  be 
right  back,"  she  descended  to  the  sidewalk,  and  pushed 
Henry  Newton  away. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  More  ?  how  do  you  do,  Miss 
Rice  ?  Be  you  both  on  you  well  ?  " 

Being  assured  that  they  were,  she  lowered  her  voice  a 
little,  and  pointed  to  the  sleigh  before  them. 

"  Who  be  them  folks  ?  They  don't  belong  to  Moresville, 
that's  sartain  sure." 

"  No,  of  course  they  don't ;  I  should  know  who  they 
were,  if  they  lived  anywheres  within  ten  miles,"  said  Mrs. 
Rice. 

"  Til  ask  Mr.  Newton  who  they  be,"  said  Mrs.  Kinney, 
lifting  her  head  preparatory. to  lifting  her  voice. 

"  Pray  don't,  Mrs.  Kinney,"  said  Mrs.  More,  hastily.  "  It 
is  not  necessary  that  we  should  know  who  they  are ;  and  if 
it  were,  we  could  ask  some  other  time." 

"  We'll  wait  till  they  go,"  said  Mrs.  Rice,  decidedly ;  "  it 
won't  be  long ;  "  and  Mrs.  Kinney,  having  bestowed  another 
look  of  scrutiny  upon  the  strangers,  turned  again  to  her 
acquaintances. 

"  I  thought  as  how  I'd  take  this  'ere  opportunity  to  speak 
to  you,  as  I've  got  such  a  power  of  things  to  see  to  this 
week,  that  I  couldn't  call,  mebbe.  I  expect  you  to  keep  it 
an  awful  secret,"  she  added ;  "  I  don't  want  all  creation  to 
know  it,  'cause  they  ain't  all  goin'  to  be  invited." 

"  Oh,  you  are  going  to  give  a  party,  eh  ? "  said  Mrs. 
Rice. 

"  No,  I  ain't ;  that's  to  say,  it  ain't  exactly  a  party ;  it's 
more'n  a  party — it's  a  weddin'." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Rice,  her  curiosity  fully  roused, 
"  Who's  going  to  be  married  ?  " 

"  I  be,"  answered  Mrs.  Kinney. 


154:  MARGARET  : 

"  You  going  to  be  married  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Rice,  so  loud 

that  the  lady  on  the  back  seat  of  the  other  sleigh  turned  her 

head,  and  Mrs.  Here's  feeling  of  astonishment  at  the  piece 

•  of  news  she  had  heard,  was  arrested — it  was  such  a  sweet  face 

of  which  she  had  a  glimpse. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure  it's  me ;  an'  why  not  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Kinney  sharply ;  "  an'  the  weddin's  to  be  a  week  from  to 
day,  an'  I  should  be  pleased  to  hev  you  both  come ;  an' 
bring  your  darter  Lucindy,  with  my  respex,"  she  added  to 
Mrs.  Rice,  who  said  she  certainly  would ;  she  "  wouldn't 
miss  the  spectacle  for  the  world,"  as  she  said  afterwards. 

Just  then  their  attention  was  directed  to  the  strangers 
again,  as,  the  loose  shoe  being  fastened  on,  and  two  boys 
summoned  from  the  shop  where  they  had  been  entertaining 
themselves,  the  gentleman  was  tucking  the  buffalo-robe 
around  the  lady  in  the  front  seat.  One  of  the  boys  climbed 
in  behind,  and  snuggled  down  beside  the  lady  whose  face 
Mrs.  More  had  seen,  while  the  other  mounted  in  front,  call 
ing  out,  "  I  say,  doctor,  let  me  drive  ;  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  my  dear ;  come  back  here  to  me.  You  know 
you  can't  drive." 

The  boy  obeyed,  saying,  "  Are  we  going  straight  home 
now?" 

"  Yes,  straight  home,"  answered  the  gentleman,  taking 
his  seat ;  and  gathering  up  the  reins,  he  turned  -the  horses' 
heads  to  go  the  other  way,  and  then  Mrs.  More  had  another 
and  better  view  of  the  fair  face.  This  time  the  sweet  gray 
eyes  looked  full  into  hers  ;  and  when  they  started  for  home, 
after  Mrs.  Kinney  and  Mrs.  Rice  had  plied  Mr.  Newton  with 
questions  as  to  the  strangers,  none  of  which  he  could  answer, 
while  half  listening  to  Mrs.  Rice's  denouncement  of  "  such 
ridiculous  marriages,"  she  still  had  that  face  in  her  mind. 

What  would  she  have  given  to  know,  when  within  hear 
ing  of  her  voice,  that  it  was  the  face  of  Chloe's  Miss  Marg'et  ? 
and  what  would  Margaret  have  given  to  know  that  those  soft 
dark  eyes  that  met  hers,  and  those  silvery  curls,  belonged  to 
her  who  had  rescued  Chloe  from  cruelty,  cold,  and  hunger — 


A.   STORY    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIKIE   HOME.  155 

that  ten  minutes'  fast  driving  would  have  brought  her  to 
Chloe's  refuge  ?  What  would  she  have  said,  if  she  had 
known  that  the  sharp  face  and  bunchy  figure  that  caught  her 
eye  for  a  moment,  belonged  to  the  bride-elect  of  her  ci- 
devant  lover,  Mr.  Skinner  ?  And  what  would  she  have  felt, 
if  she  had  known  that  the  lady  with  the  soft  dark  eyes  and 
silvery  curls  was  not  only  Chloe's  friend,  but  Mr.  Russell's 
"  kind  aunt,"  to  whom  he  had  hastened  from  the  little  red 
school-house  on  the  day,  so  far  away,  and  yet  so  near  ? 

Mrs.  Kinney,  having  engaged  the  minister  to  perform  the 
important  ceremony,  went  home,  and  that  week  was  full  of 
business  for  her  and  Betty.  She  did  not  spend  much  thought 
on  her  wardrobe,  as  most  brides  do.  She  had  bought  the 
new  green  satin  bonnet,  which  had  given  such  umbrage  to 
Mrs.  Rice,  with  a  view  to  "  walking  out  bride  in  it,"  and  she 
had  her  black  satin  cloak,  which  was  "just  as  good  as  new," 
though  she  had  worn  it  for  ten  years  and  more.  Then,  her 
green  brocaded  silk  dress  was  plenty  good  enough  to  be  mar 
ried  in,  and  the  yellow  bows  on  her  best  cap  looked  white  by 
lamp-light. 

But  her  mind  was  filled  with  cakes  and  pies  and  jellies, 
and  all  the  cookeries  necessary  for  the  grand  occasion ;  and 
it  was  as  much  as  ever  she  and  Betty  could  do  to  get  every 
thing  ready  in  time.  They  succeeded,  however,  and  the  mo 
mentous  hour  arrived  wh<ta  the  guests  began  to  assemble. 
Mr.  Skinner  came  rather  sooner  than  he  was  expected  by  his 
spouse-to-be,  but  she  easily  put  him  aside  till  it  was  time  for 
them  to  take  their  places  in  the  keeping-room. 

As  the  clock  struck  seven,  the  guests  being  arranged  in 
double  and  triple  lines  against  the  wall,  Mrs.  Kinney  rose  up, 
and  Mr.  Skinner  rose  up,  the  minister  stepped  forward,  and 
in  a  few  moments  Keziah  Kinney  and  George  Washington 
Skinner  were  pronounced  husband  and  wife. 

The  minister  offered  his  congratulations,  and  his  wife 
offered  hers ;  and  then  there  was  a  pause  in  the  festivities, 
which  Mr.  Skinner  embraced  to  smile  upon  his  bride.  But 
the  beaming  look  was  lost  upon  her,  as  she  was  occupied  in 


156  MARGARET. 

looking  daggers  at  Benjamin  Truffles,  whose  good-natured 
face,  in  the  opposite  corner,  had  reminded  her  of  her  discom 
fiture  on  that  day  week.  When  her  attention  was  withdrawn 
from  him,  it  had  to  be  bestowed  upon  Miss  Lucinda  Rice, 
whom  the  august  occasion  had  impressed,  as  all  such  occa 
sions  must,  after  the  heart-experiences  she  had  undergone. 
She  came  forward  in  Swiss  muslin,  with  nothing  to  break  its 
child-like  simplicity  save  a  string  of  pearl  beads  and  the 
inevitable  white  rosebud,  and  taking  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Skin 
ner  in  one  of  hers,  and  that  of  Mr.  Skinner  in  the  other,  she 
looked  into  their  faces  by  turns,  and  said,  in  distinct  tones  : 

Oh,  ye  happy,  smiling  pair, 

Highly  favored  as  ye  are, 

May  no  cloud  of  sorrow  cross, 

May  no  wave  of  trouble  toss 

The  life  begun  in  brightness  here  ; 

And  may  ye  knovv,  from  year  to  year, 

How  blest  united  hearts  indeed, 

And  ne'er  how  hearts  dissevered  bleed. 

She  dropped  the  hands  simultaneously  with  the  last  word, 
and  retired  behind  her  mother,  who  was  half  elated  at  this 
new  proof  of  her  daughter's  genius,  and  half  contemptuous 
at  the  occasion  upon  which  she  had  chosen  to  display  it. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Skinner  gazed  after  her  in  blank  amazement, 
while  a  buzz  of  conversation  began,  which  grew  louder  as 
the  stiff  rows  broke  into  groups.  Presently  refreshments 
were  announced  by  the  bride  herself,  who  had  slipped  out  to 
oversee  Betty,  and  was  from  that  time,  to  all  appearance,  no 
more  a  bride,  but  the  busy,  bustling  Mrs.  Kinney. 

Mr.  Skinner  could  not  have  been  surprised  at  the  speedy 
reassumption  of  her  own  character,  after  the  experiences  of 
their  betrothal  day,  though  in  all  probability  he  had  given 
little  thought  to  that  phase  of  his  union  with  his  Keziah.  And 
as,  "  from  year  to  year,"  he  had  a  settled  habitation,  from 
which  his  better  half  never  ejected  him,  however  she  might 
threaten  to  do  it,  and  having  plenty  to  eat,  he  felt  that-  ho 
was  "  blest  indeed,"  and  asked  for  nothing  more. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

And,  for  what's  past — I  will  not  say  in  what  she  did  that  all  was  right, 
But  all's  forgiven ;  and  I  pray  for  her  heart's  welfare,  day  and  night. 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 

AFTEK  New- Year's  day,  Margaret  persisted  in  calling  her 
self  well,  though  Miss  Patty  remonstrated,  and  would  have 
been  glad  to  keep  her  up-stairs  in  peace  and  quiet  for  weeks 
longer.  One  thing  the  little  woman  would  not  consent  to, 
and  that  was,  going  home  and  leaving  Margaret  to  resume 
her  household  cares.  Nobody  knew  where  a  servant  could 
be  found  who  would  not  be  more  trouble  than  help.  So 
Miss  Patty  stayed  on,  and  reigned  supreme  in  the  kitchen. 
Sometimes  she  would  come  to  the  sitting-room  door,  and,  if 
any  body  else  was  there,  having  caught  Margaret's  eye, 
would  beckon  with  her  hand ;  then,  when  she  had  her  con 
valescent  in  the  kitchen,  would  make  her  sit  down  in  some 
warm  corner  out  of  the  draught,  while  consulting  on  some 
point  of  domestic  economy — more  for  the  sake  of  enjoying 
Margaret's  presence  than  that  she  really  felt  herself  incapa 
ble  of  deciding  such  questions. 

Dr.  Doane's  visit  of  a  week  had  lengthened  into  three, 
and  a  part  of  nearly  every  day  had  been  spent  at  the  farm 
house.  Indeed,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  the  charm  which  had 
kept  him  so  long  was  there,  and  not  at  his  host's  home,  as 
Mrs.  Somcrs  and  the  children  were  still  away.  Dr.  Somers 
himself  was  glad  to  escape  from  its  loneliness,  and  join  the 
pleasant  circle  in  the  sitting-room  when  he  had  an  hour  or 
two  to  spare.  He  rejoiced  to  think  that  the  coming  of  his 
friend,  at  what  had  at  first  seemed  a  very  inopportune  time, 
had  brought  a  change  and  variety  to  the  usually  quiet  life  at 
the  farm,  and  given  a  real  interest  to  Margaret's  convales 
cence. 

The  sleigh-ride  to  Moresvillc  was  to  be  the  grand  wind- 


158  MARGAKET  I 

ing-up  of  all  the  good  times,  as  Dr.  Doane  was  to  leave,  the 
next  morning,  for  St.  Louis.  Every  minute  of  the  drive  was 
full  of  enjoyment  to  Margaret.  The  beautiful,  white,  spark 
ling  snow,  stretching  away  to  the  blue  sky  on  every  side, 
and  the  delicate  tracery  of  the  leafless  trees  against  the  white 
and  blue  of  snow  and  sky,  and  the  crisp,  frosty  air,  all  gave 
her  exquisite  pleasure,  while  she  talked  and  laughed  with  the 
boys  so  merrily  that  Dr.  Doane  tumed  now  and  then  to  look 
into  her  bright  face  and  laugh  from  sympathy,  though  Fanny 
managed  to  keep  his  eye  and  ear  pretty  well  occupied. 

In  the  evening  Dr.  Soiners  came  in,  as  he  had  promised 
to  call  and  take  Dr.  Doane  home. 

"  Oh !  "  was  his  exclamation  as  he  entered,  "  you're  all 
safe,  are  you  ?  I  didn't  know  but  you  were  all  buried  up  in 
a  snow-drift  between  here  and  Moresville;  I  thought  I'd 
just  look  in  before  I  called  the  neighbors  out  with  pickaxes 
and  shovels.  Here,  let  me  look  at  you,"  he  added,  turning 
Margaret's  rocking-chair  around,  that  the  light  might  fall  on 
her  face.  "  Did  it  km,  or  cure  ?  " 

"  Oh,  doctor,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  gained  ten  pounds  since 
morning." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  you  do  look  fifty  per  cent,  better.  I 
think  I'll  take  you  with  me  on  my  rounds  for  a  few  days,  and 
see  if  riding  with  an  old  man  like  me  will  be  as  beneficial  as 
your  ride  to-day.  What  did  you  do  at  Moresville  ?  " 

And  then  Margaret  gave  a  detailed  and  animated  account 
of  their  drive,  not  forgetting  their  stopping  at  the  black 
smith's  shop,  and  seeing  the  lovely  old  lady  with  silvery 
curls ;  while  Dr.  Doane  proceeded  with  some  story  he  was 
relating  to  the  boys,  and  Fanny  gracefully  reclined  upon  the 
sofa,  dividing  her  glances  between  Dr.  Doane's  face  and  the 
flickering  blaze  under  the  stove-door. 

"  Come,  doctor,  I  can't  wait  another  minute.  If  you 
don't  come  now  you'll  have  to  walk,"  cried  Dr.  Soiners,  turn 
ing  suddenly  upon  his  friend,  as  if  he  had  been  impatiently 
waiting  an  indefinite  time,  when  in  truth  it  had  only  that 
instant  occurred  to  him  to  be  in  a  hurry ;  and  Dr.  Doane, 


A   BTOEY    OF    LIFE    IN   A   PKAIKIE    HOME.  159 

who  had  just  finished  his  story  and  drawn  his  chair  nearer 
to  Fanny,  started  up  in  pretended  dismay. 

"  Oh,  don't  go,"  said  Jack,  seizing  his  hand ;  "  ain't  you 
coming  here  any  more  ?  " 

"  1  hope  so,  my  dear  boy,"  answered  Dr.  Doane,  laying 
his  hand  on  Jack's  head,  and  keeping  his  eyes  fixed  on  him, 
perhaps  afraid  to  trust  them  anywhere  else. 

"  I  say,  Dr.  Doane,"  said  George,  "  why  don't  you  come 
here  and  live  with  Dr.  Somers,  and  ride  round  with  him  to 
see  the  sick  folks  ?  Isn't  that  what  you  do  in  St.  Louis  ?  " 

"  Look  out  there,  Master  George !  "  cried  Dr.  Somers. 
"  I  don't  want  him.  He'd  poison  all  my  patients  with  his 
new-fangled  notions.  He'll  be  back  again,  boys,  never  you 
fear ;  but  whether  he  will  make  us  twice  glad,  remains  to  be 
seen ; "  and  he  gave  Dr.  Doane  a  mischievous  glance,  that 
actually  sent  the  blood  in  torrents  to  his  face. 

To  hide  his  confusion,  he  turned  to  bid  good-by  to  Mr. 
Crosby,  who  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  saying,  "  We 
shall  miss  you,  doctor.  I  hope  you  will  pay  Dr.  Somers 
another  visit  before  long." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  you  are  very  kind.  I  am  sure  I  shall 
miss  you  all  more  than  I  can  say. — Good-by,  Mrs.  Sinclair." 

"  Come,  come !  you'll  never  get  through,  I  see  plainly," 
cried  Dr.  Somers ;  and  Dr.  Doane  turned  to  Margaret,  who 
had  noted  the  expression  of  Fanny's  face,  as  her  hand  rested 
an  instant  in  Dr.  Doane's. 

"  Good-by,  Miss  Crosby.  I  shall  often  think  of  the 
pleasant  times  I  have  had  with  you  all.  I  little  expected, 
when  I  left  St.  Louis,  to  make  such  valued  additions  to  my 
list  of  friends,  for  I  must  count  you  such." 

"I  hope  you  do,  indeed,"  replied  Margaret,  warmly; 
"  you  have  made  a  secure  place  for  yourself  in  our  little 
circle,  and  I  am  only  sorry  that  you  must  leave  it  vacant  so 
soon." 

"  Good-by,  my  dear  boys  ;  "  and  he  threw  his  arm  around 
each,  and  returned  their  affectionate  kisses ;  and  with  another 
look  at  the  group,  he  was  gone — leaving  a  real  pain  in  the 


160  MAKGAKET : 

hearts  he  had  won  by  the  genial  qualities  of  his  mind  and 
heart. 

Scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  during  the  drive  home,  and 
not  until  the  friends  were  seated  by  the  fire  with  their  cigars, 
did  they  fairly  break  the  silence.  After  a  little  talk  about 
the  trains,  and  the  hour  for  starting  in  the  morning  for  Jones- 
ville,  Dr.  Somers  said,  "  Well,  doctor,  now  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  her." 

Dr.  Doane  made  a  little  cloud  of  smoke  that  quite  hid 
his  face ;  and  after  a  moment's  pause  replied,  "  I  think  her 
very  lovely." 

"  Did  I  praise  her  too  much  ?  "  cried  Dr.  Somers. 

"  No,"  answered  Dr.  Doane,  quietly ;  "  she  is  the  loveliest 
woman  I  ever  met." 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  my  dear  fellow.  I  have  done  you 
the  injustice  to  fancy  you  did  not  appreciate  her." 

"  A  man  must  be  blind  indeed  not  to  appreciate  a  char 
acter  in  which  there  is  hardly  a  blemish." 

Dr.  Somers  sat  silent  a  moment,  while  he  rapidly  painted 
a  bright  little  picture  in  his  own  mind,  and  then  he  turned  to 
Dr.  Doane  again. 

"  You  are  a  queer  fellow,  doctor,  to  have  kept  your  own 
counsel  so  completely  all  this  time — for  of  course  you  are  in 
love ;  yet  I  have  not  been  able  to  see  a  trace  of  it,  though  I 
have  looked  sharp  enough  to  find  a  needle  in  a  haystack. 
Did  you  fall  in  love  at  first  sight  ?  "  asked  the  doctor,  merci 
lessly,  determined  to  hear  the  whole  story  if  he  had  to  draw 
it  piecemeal  from  his  friend's  lips. 

"I  believe  so,"  replied  Dr.  Doaue,  consuming  his  cigar 
very  rapidly  in  his  effort  to  keep  his  face  in  a  cloud. 

"  Whew  !  Well,  is  it  all  settled  ?  Have  you  popped  the 
question  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  No  !  And  pray  why,  in  the  name  of  all  that's  reason 
able  and  comfortable,  are  you  going  back  to  St.  Louis  with 
out  doing  it  ?  Why,  man,  we  will  put  on  our  coats,  and  go 
straight  back  to  Mr.  Crosby's  again.  What  does  it  mean  ?  " 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE    HOME.  161 

"  I  could  not  satisfy  myself  that  she  returned  my  regard,' 
answered  Dr.  Doane. 

"  Oh  !  And  you  could  not  run  the  risk  of  being  refused 
by  the  woman  you  estimate  as  the  loveliest  you  ever  met  ?  " 
said  Dr.  Sotners,  looking  at  his  friend  with  a  feeling  of  indig 
nation  rising  in  his  chivalrous  heart. 

"  No,  that  is  an  unjust  way  of  putting  my  case,"  answered 
Dr.  Doane,  clearing  away  the  cloud  of  smoke,  and  showing  a 
flushed  face ;  "  I  shrunk  from  giving  the  woman  I  estimate 
so  highly  the  pain  of  refusing  me,  and  I  looked  in  vain  for 
any  sure  token  of  the  love  I  yearn  for  with  my  whole  soul." 

"  I  should  think  I  was  unjust,"  cried  Dr.  Somers.  "  I  am 
ashamed  of  my  suspicion.  But,  my  dear  Doane,  it  seems  to 
me  that  she  has  shown  that  she  cared  for  you." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know  she  does  care  for  me  as  a  friend.  She 
is  formed  to  make  friends,  but  there  was  no  love  in  the  frank, 
unreserved  pleasure  she  felt  in  my  society.  Her  sweet  blue 
eyes  could  look  just  as  irresistibly  into  other  faces  as  mine, 
and  her  smiles  are  for  others  as  well  as  for  me." 

"  What !  what's  that  ? — blue  eyes,  did  you  say  ?  Mar 
garet's  eyes  are  not  blue ;  they  are  gray — clear,  truthful 
gray  !  "  exclaimed  the  startled  Dr.  Somers. 

"  Margaret's  ?  Of  course,  I  know  they  are ;  but 

Somers,  is  it  possible  that  we  are  talking  at  cross  purposes  ? 
I  am  not  in  love  with  Margaret  Crosby,  but  with  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Sinclair." 

Dr.  Somers  sprang  from  his  chair,  strode  up  and  down 
the  room  two  or  three  times,  and  then  stood  still  before  Dr. 
Doane. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  have  seen  Margaret 
Crosby  and  Fanny  Sinclair  side  by  side  for  three  weeks,  and 
have  deliberately  chosen  Fanny  as  the  better  and  lovelier 
of  the  two  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  did  it  very  deliberately,"  answered 
Dr.  Doane,  rather  amused  at  what  he  considered  Dr.  Somers' 
unreasonable  partiality  for  Margaret,  and  recalling  the  fact 
that,  in  their  talk  about  the  sisters  before  they  met,  it  war, 


162  MARGARET  t 

Margaret  whose  excellence  had  been  warmly  set  forth, 
"  But  I  certainly  should  defend  my  involuntary  choice  in  the 
face  of  the  world.  I  admire  Miss  Crosby  exceedingly ;  she  is 
very  lovely  indeed,  but  she  has  not  the  peculiar  nameless 
charm  that  her  sister  possesses." 

"  I  should  think  it  was  nameless,"  muttered  the  disap 
pointed  doctor. 

"  She  has  such  winning  softness  and  dependence,  such 
graceful  gayety  at  times,  and  such  tender  seriousness  at 
others ;  her  beauty  is  so  delicate  and  refined,  and  she  is  so 
unselfish, — why,  doctor,  it  seems  to  me  that  a  man  must  have 
a  heart  of  stone  not  to  be  won  by  such  a  woman." 

"  Well,  commend  me  to  the  heart  of  stone,  and  deliver 
me  from  being  the  man  to  win  her,  say  I,"  answered  Dr. 
Somers. 

"  You  are  unjust,  Somers,"  said  Dr.  Doane  gravely. 
"  Your  partiality  for  your  favorite  makes  you  unable  to  see 
that  her  sister  has  any  virtues." 

"  Well,  we  will  not  quarrel  about  our  differences  of 
opinion,"  said  Dr.  Somers,  holding  out  his  hand  to  his  friend. 
"  All  I  have  to  say  is,  that  I  hope  you  will  be  happy.  God 
guide  you,  and  give  you  what  will  prove  a  blessing." 

The  two  friends  parted  for  the  night,  and  Dr.  Doane 
started  on  his  homeward  journey  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the 
next  morning,  with  a  heavy,  restless  heart. 

Margaret's  eyes  and  ears  had  been  busy  during  those 
three  weeks ;  and  now  her  sisterly  solicitude,  and  her  quick 
intuition,  enabled  her  to  unravel  the  tangled  skein  of  words 
and  looks  and  tones,  and  weave  it  into  a  web  that  wa.s 
neither  dark  nor  bright,  whose  hue  would  be  given  by  the 
sunshine  or  shadow  of  coming  events. 

She  had  not  grown  so  used  to  seeing  Fanny  in  her  new 
character,  as  to  be  surprised  when  it  was  laid  aside  as  soon 
as  Dr.  Doane  was  gone,  but  not  the  less  did  her  heart  ache 
to  think  that  what  should  have  been  an  abiding  reality,  waa 
a  sort  of  masquerade  array,  to  be  assumed  and  discarded  at 
pleasure. 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  163 

In  Margaret's  desire  to  give  more  time  to  the  boys'  les 
sons  and  to  her  father,  she  still  yielded  to  Miss  Patty's  per 
sistence  in  regarding  her  as  unfit  to  be  left  to  her  own  devices 
in  the  kitchen.  But  let  no  one  imagine  for  a  moment  that 
Patty  was  forgetful  that  charity  begins  at  home.  Her  sister 
had  a  friend  with  whom  she  had  much  more  in  common 
than  with  Patty,  inasmuch  as  she  too  had  the  rheumatism, 
and  a  querulous,  fault-finding  temper,  who  gladly  accepted 
Patty's  invitation  to  stay  with  her  sister ;  and  the  two  old 
dames  had  a  fine  time  together,  comparing  notes  as  to  which 
had  the  most  aches  and  pains,  and  in  backbiting  their  neigh 
bors. 

It  was  astonishing  to  see  how  cheerfully  Jotham  tackled 
his  team  whenever  Margaret  desired  to  take  a  drive  with 
her  father  and  the  boys — and  that  was  every  day  when  the 
weather  was  tine.  He  would  sometimes  remark  that  "  them 
rides  would  fetch  it,"  meaning  Miss  Crosby's  strength. 

Margaret  was  far  more  anxious  for  her  father's  health 
than  for  her  own,  for  while  he  was  much  less  silent  and 
absorbed  in  himself,  he  looked  feebler  and  had  little  appe 
tite  ;  and  Margaret  made  every  thing  tend  to  his  comfort 
and  amusement  without  seeming  to  do  so. 

The  time  passed  happily,  with  the  one  shadow  of  Fan 
ny's  listless  indifference,  until  one  day,  about  a  month  after 
Dr.  Doane's  visit,  Dr.  Somers  stopped  at  the  gate  and  hand 
ed  Jotham  a  letter.  It  was  for  Fanny,  and  Margaret,  to 
whom  Jotham  gave  it,  could  only  surmise  its  source  from  its 
having  come  through  Dr.  Somers.  With  a  fast-beating  heart 
she  carried  it  to  her  sister,  who  sat  with  her  book  by  the  fire, 
in  her  wrapper  and  shawl,  as  of  old.  Fanny  looked  at  the 
handwriting,  and  a  flash  of  joy  lighted  up  her  face,  but  it 
changed  to  a  look  of  annoyance  as  she  glanced  at  Margaret, 
and  without  a  word,  she  put  the  letter  in  her  pocket.  Mar 
garet  turned  away  Avith  a  sigh,  and  soon  after  Fanny  went 
up-stairs. 

Margaret  yearned  to  know  if  the  little  Aveb  she  had 
woven  had  taken  the  rosy  dye  of  happy  love,  and  she  had 


164  MAEGAKET  : 

not  long  to  wait.  At  tea-time  Fanny  appeared,  and  the  first 
glance  at  her  unclouded  face,  and  improved  toilet,  told  the 
secret,  though  no  reference  was  made  to  it  until  Margaret 
and  the  boys  were  gone  up-stairs  in  the  evening. 

Then  Fanny  said  to  her  father,  "  I  have  a  letter  from  Dr. 
Doane." 

"  Have  you,  child  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  and  it  contains  a  proposal  of  marriage." 

"  Of  marriage !  to  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father,  even  to  me,"  answered  Fanny,  with  some 
asperity.  "I  suppose  it  would  have  pleased  you  more  if  it 
had  been  to  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Fanny,  I  did  not  mean  that,  but  you  took  me  so 
by  surprise.  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Very  likely  not,  father,  but  it  is  even  so,  and  I  have 
written  my  answer;  I  have  accepted  him." 

"  HaA'e  you,  child  ?  Then  you  love  .him.  Well,  I  hope 
you  will  be  happy,  and  make  him  happy." 

Then,  as  Mai-garet's  step  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  Fanny 
rose,  and  kissing  her  father  lightly,  said  good-night. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  tell  Margaret  ?  " 

"  You  may  do  that,  father,  if  you  will ; "  and  Mr.  Crosby 
wondered,  little  guessing  what  good  reason  Fanny  had  for 
not  caring  to  confide  her  hopes  to  her  sister. 

He  told  Margaret  at  once  of  the  letter,  and  they  talked 
long  of  Dr.  Doane  and  Fanny  and  the  boys,  as '  Margaret 
had  never  expected  to  talk  with  her  father ;  and  when  they 
parted,  at  a  late  hour,  Mr.  Crosby  folded  his  daughter  in  his 
arms,  and  called  her  the  comfort  of  his  old  age.  She  was 
thus  the  better  able  to  bear  the  impatience  of  Fanny's  man 
ner,  as  she  kissed  her,  and  told  her  how  glad  she  was  for  her 
new  happiness. 

The  next  morning  Fanny,  no  longer  listless  and  languid, 
but  busy  and  interested,  called  Margaret  to  her  room,  where 
she  had  opened  her  drawers  and  trunks,  to  discuss  their 
contents,  and  see  what  was  available  for  her  trousseau. 

"  You  see  now,  Margaret,  the  wisdom  of  keeping  my 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  165 

handsome  dresses.  What  should  I  do  without  these  silks  to 
be  made  over?  for  of  course  I  can  have  but  few  new  things." 

Margaret  entered  eagerly  into  Fanny's  plans,  and  said 
that,  with  their  combined  tastes  and  the  help  of  the  Jones- 
ville  dressmaker,  they  could  conjure  up  a  very  nice  ward 
robe,  one  that  might  satisfy  any  bride. 

"  I  cannot  sew  much,"  Fanny  said ;  <£  it  never  did  agree 
with  me ;  but  Miss  Patty  is  very  handy  with  her  needle,  and 
you  fit  yourself  so  nicely — I  wonder  if  you  could  not  fit  me 
better  than  a  country  dressmaker?" 

"  We  will  manage  somehow,"  said  Margaret,  cheerfully, 
and  so  they  did.  During  the  weeks  that  followed,  Mar 
garet's  taste  and  skill,  and  scissors  and  needle,  were  con 
stantly  in  requisition,  while  Fanny  studied  the  fashion-books 
and  made  suggestions  as  to  the  trimmings.  But  Miss  Patty's 
grave  face,  as  she  plied  her  needle  under  Margaret's  direc 
tion  and  for  her  sake,  gently  testified  her  disapproval  of  such 
management,  and  Mr.  Crosby  looked  on  from  his  sofa  with 
no  little  solicitude  as  to  its  effect  upon  Margaret. 

D.-.  Somers  courteously  offered  his  congratulations  when 
the  engagement  was  made  known  to  him,  and  then  eschewed 
the  subject,  continuing,  though  ineffectually,  to  "-look  after" 
Margaret. 

It  was  taken  for  granted  that  Margaret  would  explain  to 
George  and  Jack  the  cause  of  all  the  commotion ;  and  so 
well  did  she  succeed  in  gratifying  their  curiosity,  and  at  the 
same  time  in  quieting  their  boyish  tongues,  that  their  mother 
*\vas  spared  all  annoying  comments  and  questions.  No  doubt 
they  made  up  for  lost  time  when  they  were  alone  with  Mar 
garet. 

One  day,  when  Fanny  had  read  her  letter — every  day 
brought  her  one — she  looked  long  and  soberly  at  the  carpet. 
At  last  she  said  with  a  sigh,  "  Dr.  Doane  speaks  as  a  matter 
of  course  of  the  children's  going  to  St.  Louis  with  us."' 

Margaret  dropped  her  sewing,  and  looked  at  her  in  utter 
amazement.  "  Did  you  think  of  leaving  them  behind  ?  "  she 
asked. 


166  MARGAKET I 

Fanny  colored  as  she  replied,  "  Of  course,  I  expected  to 
have  them  with  me  after  a  little ;  but  I  must  say,  I  dread  the 
idea  of  taking  them  at  first." 

"  I  supposed,  certainly,  they  would  go  with  you,  and 
have  talked  to  them  of  it,  so  that  they  are  quite  m  the  spirit 
of  seeing  the  great  city,  and  living  in  Dr.  Doane's  house," 
said  Margaret,  laying  away  the  silk  dress  she  was  at  work 
upon,  and  going  to  the  window  to  hide  her  tears. 

"  I  presume  it  will  be  a  great  relief  to  you  to  have  them 
gone,"  said  Fanny;  and  she  sighed  at  the  thought  of  the  ad 
ded  cares  she  would  have  to  assume.  Margaret  made  no  re 
ply — she  could  not;  and  the  subject  was  not  again  referred  to. 

The  week  of  the  wedding  came,  and,  thanks  to  Margaret's 
energy,  the  pretty  trousseau  was  complete.  Nothing  was 
left  to  do  but  to  lay  the  last  things  in  the  trunks. 

Dr.  Doane  had  abundant  reason  to  feel  satisfied  with  his 
reception  by  every  one,  from  his  bride  to  Jotham,  who  had 
expressed  himself  in  this  wise  to  his  mother  soon  after 
he  learned  the  news :  "  I  never  had  no  very  pertickler 
likin'  fer  Miss  Sinclair,  an'  it's  my  opine  that  she'll  lead  that 
'ere  nice  doctor  a  pretty  dance.  But  every  body  to  ther 
taste,  an'  I  wish  him  joy  of  his'n.  He's  a  right  smart  chance 
of  a  man,  an'  I  wish,  fer  his  sake,  thet  he'd  a  took  Miss 
Crosby.  She's  wuth  a  hunderd  of  her  sister." 

To  the  doctor  himself  he  said,  "  I  s'pose  you  ain't  above 
lettin'  a  country  bunker  like  me  congratilate  you  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  Jotham ;  I  hope  I  shall  have  a  chance  to 
return  your  good  wishes  one  of  these  days." 

"I  don'  know  'bout  thet,"  said  Jotham,  thrusting  his 
hands  deep  into  his  pockets.  "  I'm  rayther  skeery  of  the 
wimmin  folks ;  but  anyhow,  I'm  obleeged  to  you  all  the  same, 
an'  wish  you  joy  ag'in." 

Dr.  Doane  was  too  thoroughly  happy  to  recall  his  talk 
with  Dr.  Somers,  and  accepted  his  friend's  carefully-worded 
congratulations  as  unquestioningly  as  if  he  never  had  reason 
to  doubt  his  admiration  for  Fanny. 

The  marriage-morn  dawned  at  length,  and  a  very  lorely 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  167 

spring  morning  it  was — bright  sunshine,  soft  breezes,  and  the 
sweetest  of  bird-songs  were  its  accompaniments.  Early  in 
the  day  the  few  guests  assembled  in  the  little  sitting-room. 
Fanny  came  down  in  her  tasteful  gray  suit — dress,  hat, 
gloves,  and  boots,  all  matching  in  color ;  and  if  she  had  only 
been  as  good  as  she  was  fair,  and  as  gentle  and  womanly  as 
she  seemed,  her  bridal  would  have  been  worthy  the  loveliness 
Nature  lavished  upon  it.  The  boys  stood  beside  Margaret, 
who,  in  her  renovated  violet-silk,  looked  as  lovely  as  she 
really  was ;  and  the  solemn  ceremony  was  performed  that 
gave  Dr.  Doane's  happiness  to  the  keeping  of  Fanny  Sinclair, 
and  hers  to  him.  Could  either  look  for  it  unless  both  could  ? 

A  simple  breakfast  was  served,  and  when  that  was  over 
it  was  time  for  the  leavetakings. 

The  boys  were  full  of  eager  excitement  at  the  thought  of 
their  journey  and  seeing  the  city,  and  were  all  impatience  to 
be  off;  but  when  they  were  in  the  carriage,  waiting  for  Dr. 
Doane  and  their  mother  to  come,  and  saw  their  aunt  standing 
in  the  doorway  smiling  at  them,  George  sprang  out  with 
a  wild  cry,  Jack  followed,  and  once  more  they  were  in  her 
arms,  strained  to  her  bosom,  and  sobbing  as  if  their  hearts 
would  break. 

"  Oh,  Aunty ! "  cried  Jack,  "  come  too,  do — do  come  too." 

"  I  won't  go,  Aunty,  unless  you  do  !  "  exclaimed  George, 
suddenly  checking  his  sobs. 

"  Yes,  you  will,  my  love  ;  and  you  will  be  good  children, 
and  remember  all  I  have  told  you.  There,  go,  my  darlings, 
Dr.  Doane  is  calling  you,"  and  with  one  more  warm,  linger 
ing  kiss,  she  put  them  from  her,  and  they  went  back  to  the 
carriage,  crying  bitterly. 

A  backward  look  from  Fanny,  a  last  glimpse  of  two  little 
sorrowful  faces,  a  smile  and  a  bow  from  the  happy  bride 
groom,  and  they  were  out  of  sight.  Soon  the  guests  depart 
ed,  leaving  Margaret  to  put  by  her  urgent  tears,  calm  the 
wildly-pressing  pain  in  her  heart,  and  talk  cheerfully  to  her 
father  of  the  events  of  the  day ;  for  he  was  nearly  overcome 
by  the  excitement. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

What,  lose  my  kind, 
When  this  fast-ebbing  breath  shall  part ! 
What  bands  of  love  and  service  bind 
This  being  to  the  world's  sad  heart  ?  LOWELL. 

"  IT'S  a  week  to-day  since  the  wedding ;  isn't  it  ?  "  said 
Miss  Patty,  as  she  came  in  from  the  kitchen,  and  sat  down 
by  the  basket  of  mending. 

"  Yes,  a  week  to-day,"  answered  Margaret,  looking  rue 
fully  at  the  basket,  which  was  not  piled  up  with  little  boys' 
socks  and  aprons  and  things,  as  on  former  mending-days,  but 
only  contained  what  might  occupy  Patty's  deft  fingers  for 
the  hour  or  so  before  dinner. 

Margaret  had  been  reading  to  her  father  for  a  little  while, 
and  laid  down  her  book,  just  as  Patty  entered,  to  stroke  his 
hair,  and  charm  away  the  pain  in  his  head. 

"  You  will  hear  from  them  soon  again,  my  dear,"  said 
Patty,  putting  on  her  spectacles  and  threading  her  needle. 

"  Yes,  I  think  we  shall,"  Margaret  answered ;  "  they  must 
be  quite  settled  in  St.  Louis  by  this  time." 

"  And  I  shouldn't  a  bit  wonder  if  the  boys  wish  them 
selves  back  here,"  remarked  Patty. 

"  I  hope  not,'.'  said  Margaret.  "  I  want  them  to  be  con 
tented  and  happy ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  be.  The 
attractions  of  their  new  home,  and  Dr.  Doane's  indulgent 
kindness,  will  soon  comfort  their  childish  hearts,  and  turn 
their  thoughts  from  what  they  left  behind." 

"  Oh,  my  dear,"  cried  Patty,  "  don't  think  so  badly  of 
the  poor  things !  I  should  count  them  nothing  but  little 
savages,  if  I  thought  they  could  ever  choose  any  home  before 
this,  after  all  your  goodness  to  them." 

"  You  might  have  kept  them,  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Crosby. 
"  I  am  surprised  that  you  did  not  persuade  Dr.  Doane  to 
leave  them  with  you." 


A  STORY   OF   LIFE  IN  A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  J.69 

"  I  did  not  feel  that  it  would  be  best  to  have  them  stay, 
father.  Their  natural  place  is  with  their  mother ;  and  I  am 
glad  to  have  so  much  more  time  for  you,  dear  father." 

"  I  am  a  great  deal  of  trouble  and  care,  I  know,"  said  Mr. 
Crosby,  with. a  touch  of  his  old  complaining  spirit;  "but  I 
do  not  think  it  will  last  much  longer." 

"  Take  care,  father ! "  said  Margaret,  tenderly  stroking 
the  thin,  gray  hairs.  "  I  shall  be  as  indignant  with  you  as 
Miss  Patty  was  with  me  a  minute  ago,  if  you  intimate  that  I 
would  rather  do  any  thing  in  the  world  than  make  you  com 
fortable.  Have  I  behaved  as  if  I  wanted  to  do  something 
else  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  my  dear ! "  cried  Patty,  looking  up  from 
the  stocking  she  was  darning. 

"  I  know  you  have  tried  to  seem  cheerful  before  me,"  said 
Mr.  Crosby,  "  and  I  feel  very  grateful." 

"  Oh,  father,"  exclaimed  Margaret,  with  a  pleasant  little 
laugh,  "  do  you  really  imagine  that  I  have  been  moping  all 
the  time  that  I  have  been  out  of  your  sight  ?  Why,  I 
thought  you  knew  that  we  were  holding  a  perfect  carnival  of 
cleaning  and  regulating.  And  Miss  Patty  knows  that  I  was 
not  a  bit  more  solemn  then,  than  I  am  when  sitting  here  by 
you" 

"  No,  indeed,  my  dear,  you  were  not ;  you've  been  as 
chirpy  as  a  cricket  all  the  time.  I  shouldn't  say  cricket, 
cither,"  she  added,  "  for  I  think  myself  that  a  cricket  makes 
rather  a  dolesome  sound.  I'll  say,  as  those  dear  little  things 
out  there,  that  hop  and  sing  in  spite  of  the  cold  ;  "  and  she 
sat  a  moment,  looking  at  the  brave  little  birds  flitting  about 
on  the  brown  branches  where  the  buds  were  only  just  swell 
ing,  or  on  the  ground,  where  only  here  and  there  a  green  blade 
had  appeared,  lured  by  the  warm  glances  of  the  sun,  and  still 
held  its  own,  though  shivering  in  the  cold  rains  that  had 
followed. 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  glad  if  you  could  keep  cheerful  through 
the  day,"  said  Mr.  Crosby,  still  in  a  melancholy  tone. 

"  And  at  night  I  have  only  kept  awake  long  enough  to 
8 


170  MAKOAKET  : 

give  a  good-night  thought  to  Fanny  and  the  boys,  and  to 
wonder  if  you  were  sleeping  quietly.  One  night  I  did  wish 
that  Jotham  did  not  need  the  horses  all  the  time  for  the 
ploughing,  or  that  I  were  rich,  so  that  I  could  do  even  more 
for  my  dear  father's  health  than  take  him  to  drive  every  day. 
I  have  not  laid  awake  to  sigh,  '  an'  dat's  de  trufe,'  as  poor 
Chloe  used  to  say.  I  know  that  you  must  miss  the  children, 
and  Fanny,  too,"  she  added,  "  and  Miss  Patty  and  I  try  to 
make  up  for  their  loss  by  being  as  busy  and  noisy  as  we  can." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  if  two  busybodies  could  make  up  for  two 
obstrepilous  boys  " — and  Patty  finished  her  sentence  with  a 
laugh. 

"  The  house  is  all  in  order  now,  and  Bridget  is  coming 
eveiy  day  to  help  in  the  kitchen ;  so  you  shall  not  lose  sight 
of  me  very  long  at  a  time,  father ;  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I 
am  going  to  do — to  see  if  I  cannot  find  somebody's  '  hoss  and 
shay,'  as  Mr.  Skinner  would  say,  that  will  answer  for  you  and 
me  to  jog  around  the  country  with,  when  the  roads  get  a 
little  better.  We  will  have  the  full  benefit  of  the  spring 
breezes,  and  watch  the  fields  and  woods  growing  green.  If 
there  is  any  thing  pretty  within  five  miles,  we  shall  be  sure  to 
find  it." 

"  I  don't  know,  child,"  said  Mr.  Crosby ;  "  you  do  not 
realize  how  weak  I  am." 

"  I  know  you  are  weak  now,  dear  father ;  but  you  will  be 
strong  again,  as  you  will  see  when  we  have  had  a  few  of  our 
drives." 

Mr.  Crosby  shook  his  head  despondingly.  "  I  understand 
my  case  better  than  you  do,  child.  I  don't  know  why  I 
should  care  to  live.  I  am  of  no  use  to  any  body,  and  never 
have  been." 

Margaret's  loving  remonstrances  were  interrupted  by 
Miss  Patty,  who  exclaimed,  "  My  dear,  as  sure  as  the  world, 
here's  Mr.  Thomas  right  at  the  gate !  "  and  Margaret's  face 
showed  how  glad  she  was  to  hear  it. 

Mr.  Thomas'  visits  were  always  blessings,  but  it  seemed 
to  her  that  he  never  came  more  opportunely  than  now.  He 


A  STOKY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PEAIRIE  HOME.  171 

•was  almost  the  only  one  whom  her  father  ever  cared  to  see, 
and  she  hoped  that  the  cheerful  presence  would  dispel  his 
gloom. 

"  Why,  you  look  as  cosy  as  possible.  I  did  not  know  but 
I  might  find  you  all  deep  in  the  dumps,  after  my  giving  away 
three  of  the  family  last  week.  How  do  you  find  yourself, 
Mr.  Crosby,  now  that  the  excitement  is  over  ?  " 

Margaret  answered  for  her  father,  that  he  was  feeling  it 
a  little  still ;  the  weather  had  been  so  dull  and  cold  that  he 
had  not  been  able  to  rally  his  strength,  as  he  would  when  it 
was  clear  and  bright  again.  She  then  asked  Mr.  Thomas  if 
he  knew  of  any  body  who  had  an  old  vehicle,  no  matter  how 
nondescript,  and  a  horse  to  match,  which  she  could  hire — 
their  own  horses  being  in  such  constant  use — that  she  and 
her  father  might  have  the  benefit  of  a  drive  every  day. 

"1  know  of  a  vehicle  that  will  exactly  suit  you,"  Mr. 
Thomas  answered,  laughing ;  "  one  that  I  should  judge  to  be 
at  least  a  hundred  years  old  ;  it  has  lost  its  dashboard,  and  is 
altogether  as  nondescript  as  you  could  desire ;  and  I  rather 
think  Mr.  Davis  has  a  horse  to  match.  That  reminds  me 
that  I  am  here  for  the  purpose  of  asking  you,  in  my  sister's 
name,  to  come  and  spend  a  few  days  with  her — you  and  your 
father." 

"  Me  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Crosby.  "  I  could  not  possibly 
go.  But  Margaret  can  go  without  me." 

"  You  know  I  would  not  go  without  you,  father,"  said 
Margaret,  thinking  that  such  a  change  might  be  an  excellent 
thing  for  him. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Thomas,  "  Jenny  told  me  that  she 
would  not  let  you  off,  either  of  you.  She  has  been  trying  to 
come  and  arrange  for  the  visit  ever  since  the  wedding,  but 
various  things  have  prevented ;  and  she  charged  me  to  say 
that  she  should  come  for  you  to-morrow,  and  carry  you  home 
with  her,  whether  you  would  or  no." 

Miss  Patty  nodded  her  head  approvingly,  declaring  that 
nothing  could  please  her  better  than  to  have  the  house  to 
herself  for  a  little ;  that  she  herself  would  help  Mrs.  Davis 


172  MAKGAEET  : 

to  take  them  both  away.  She  then  went  into  the  kitchen 
to  see  that  the  twelve-o'clock  dinner  was  ready  for  the  men, 
whom  she  had  espied  coming  up  from  the  field. 

Margaret  knew  that  it  must  seem  a  great  undertaking  to 
her  father.  For  five  years  he  had  not  done  more  in  the  way 
of  visiting  than  to  call  on  two  or  three  families,  and  to  eat 
one  Thanksgiving  dinner  at  Dr.  Somers' ;  but  she  thought 
that,  by  a  little  gentle  persuasion,  he  might  be  induced  to 
yield  to  her  wishes.  So  it  was  left  that  Mrs.  Davis  should 
come  ;  and  if  they  decided  in  the  meantime  that  they  could 
not  accept  her  kind  invitation,  they  would  at  least  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  hear  from  the  bridal  party  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Thomas,  as  he  rose  to  go. 

"  I  had  one  short  note  from  Dr.  Doane,"  answered  Mar 
garet,  "  two  or  three  days  after  they  left  us,  mailed  at  some 
town  on  the  route,  and  they  were  having  a  very  pleasant 
journey." 

"  I  believe  they  were  not  to  take  a  long  trip,"  said  Mr. 
Thomas. 

"  No ;  Dr.  Doane  could  not  be  away  from  home  now. 
They  will  travel  in  the  summer ;  and  I  have  half  a  promise 
that  the  boys  shall  be  left  with  us  while  they  are  gone." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  they  will  be  glad  to  get  back,"  answered 
Mr.  Thomas.  "  Well,  Jenny  invited  Mrs.  Thomas  and  myself 
to  tea,  expressly  to  meet  you  to-morrow  night ;  so  do  not 
disappoint  us  by  being  absent." 

Mr.  Crosby  resisted  Margaret's  arguments  for  a  time,  but 
at  last  he  yielded ;  and  when  Mrs.  Davis  came  the  next  day, 
she  was  both  relieved  and  delighted  to  find  that  her  invita 
tion  had  been  accepted. 

"  I  feel  quite  elated  with  my  success,"  she  said  to  Patty, 
as  they  drove  away.  "  I  shall  keep  them  as  long  as  I  can." 

Patty  nodded  and  smiled  after  them,  and  then  went  back 
to  her  work,  as  happy  as  a  lark  in  the  thought  of  Margaret's 
pleasure. 

The  day  was  lovely,  and  the  sunshine  and  soft  air  had 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIKIE    HOME.  173 

their  effect  on  Mr.  Crosby.  Margaret's  anxious  heart  grew 
lighter  as  she  saw  how  he  brightened  with  every  mile  of 
their  drive,  and  how  interested  he  seemed  in  Mrs.  Davis5 
cheerful  talk.  They  were  close  by  the  little  red  school-house 
before  she  knew  that  they  were  half-way  there :  indeed,  it 
had  not  entered  her  thoughts  that  they  should  pass  it.  Thus 
taken  by  surprise,  the  flood  of  memories  and  associations  was 
almost  too  much  for  her ;  and  her  friend  saw  the  effect  in  the 
colorless  cheek  and  lip,  and  the  startled,  quickly-averted  eye. 

"  Poor  child !  "  she  thought ;  "  that  Sunday  must  have 
been  a  day  of  sharp  conflict  and  pain,  and  the  illness  that 
followed  was  the  result  of  an  overtasked  spirit.  A  quiet, 
secluded  life  does  not  shield  us  from  such  trials." 

The  pain  was  conquered  in  a  few  moments,  and  Mrs. 
Davis  looked  in  vain  for  any  token  of  it  in  her  face  or  man 
ner  during  the  visit. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thomas  came  late  in  the  day,  delighted  to 
find  Margaret  and  her  father  there.^ 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Margaret,"  Mr.  Thomas  said  to 
her,  aside,  "  I  had  very  little  hope  of  your  being  able  to 
induce  your  father  to  come,  but  I  am  very  glad  that  you  suc 
ceeded.  It  is  a  good  thing  for  you  both." 

"  If  it  only  does  not  prove  too  much  for  him,"  said  Mar 
garet,  looking  anxiously  at  her  father's  pale  face. 

After  tea,  Mr.  Thomas  and  Margaret  had  a  grand  frolic 
with  the  children  ;  and  when  their  bedtime  came,  the  grown 
people  gathered  in  the  library,  which  was  the  pet  room  in 
the  house,  and  the  evening  passed  quickly  and  pleasantly, 
even  to  Mr.  Crosby,  who  forgot  his  languor  and  weariness ; 
and  Margaret  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  her  father  say, 
as  they  parted  for  the  night,  that  he  felt  better  than  he  had 
for  some  weeks ;  he  was  tired,  but  he  thought  it  was  a  weari 
ness  that  would  give  him  sleep. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Davis  said  that  they  must  take 
advantage  of  the  uncertain  April  sunshine ;  and  so,  after 
breakfast,  a  comfortable,  old-fashioned  chaise,  with  the  steady 
old  horse  which  Mrs.  Davis  drove,  came  to  the  door,  and 


174  MAEGAEET I 

Margaret  and  her  father  started  for  a  ride.  They  had  not 
gone  far,  when  Mr.  Crosby  interrupted  Margaret's  cheerful 
chatter  about  what  they  saw,  and  the  loveliness  of  the  day, 
by  laying  his  hand  on  her  arm,  and  exclaiming,  feebly,  "  I 
cannot  go  on,  Margaret ;  I  feel  faint." 

In  great  alarm,  but  seeming  perfectly  calm,  Margaret 
turned  about  instantly,  urging  the  horse  to  his  full  speed,  and 
they  were  soon  before  Mrs.  Davis'  door  again.  Margaret 
looked  anxiously  towards  the  house,  and  in  a  moment  was 
relieved  to  see  Mrs.  Davis,  who  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  them 
from  the  window,  coming  hastily  out. 

"  Has  any  thing  happened  ?  " — and  then  she  saw  Mr. 
Crosby  leaning  against  Margaret,  with  closed  eyes  and 
ghastly  face ;  and,  not  waiting  to  hear  explanations,  she  hur 
ried  back  for  Mr.  Davis,  and  together  the  three  lifted  Mr. 
Crosby  from  the  carriage  and  into  the  house. 

A  glass  of  wine,  and  the  chafing  of  his  hands  and  other 
little  cares,  soon  restored  vitality,  but  all  day  he  lay  on  the 
lounge  in  the  library,  hardly  moving  or  speaking,  and  Mar 
garet  sat  by,  trying  to  cheer  and  divert  him.  At  length, 
towards  night,  he  seemed  to  sleep,  and  Margaret  left  his  side 
and  stood  by  the  window,  looking  out  at  the  softly-falling 
rain  that  glittered  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  and  at  the 
vivid,  beautiful  rainbow  that  spanned  the  wide  stretch  of 
land.  It  seemed  to  her  that  all  the  promises  which  had  been 
given  for  the  comfort  and  strength  of  the  tried  were  embod 
ied  for  her  in  that  glorious  arch. 

"Margaret,  I  want  to  speak  to  you,"  her  father  said, 
and  she  turned  quickly  from  the  window  and  knelt  by  his 
side. 

"  I  must  go  home,  child,"  he  said ;  "  do  not  try  to  keep 
me  here  after  to-morrow  morning." 

"  No,  of  course  I  will  not,  father.  You  shall  go  whenever 
you  like,  and  feel  able." 

"  I  shall  never  feel  better  able  than  I  do  now,  and  I  must 
get  home." 

Margaret  assured  him  that  she  would  arrange  every  thing 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  175 

BO  that  they  could  take  an  early  start  the  next  day,  and  she 
began  to  feel  very  impatient  for  the  doctor's  arrival. 

He  came  soon  after  tea ;  and  when  Margaret  told  him 
that  her  father  was  anxious  to  get  home,  he  said,  "  Well,  by 
all  means  take  him  home.  I  think  perhaps  it  is  the  best  place 
for  any  body  who  does  not  feel  well.  I  shall  not  be  very 
busy  in  the  morning,  and  I'll  just  drive  over  and  attend  to 
getting  you  back  myself;  then  I  shall  know  that  it  is 
properly  done." 

Margaret  looked  her  thanks ;  and  while  the  doctor  sat 
with  her  father,  she  went  to  find  Mrs.  Davis,  and  tell  her  the 
arrangement. 

"  My  dear,  I  cannot  think  of  letting  you  go  !  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Davis.  "  Your  father's  not  being  so  well  is  the  very 
reason  why  you  must  stay." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  Margaret  said,  "  but  father  feels 
that  l.o  must  go,  and  the  doctor  thinks  it  best  that  he 
should." 

"  The  doctor !  "  cried  Mrs.  Davis ;  "  why,  he  is  the  very 
one  that  proposed  your  coming  here  and  staying !  " 

Margaret  looked  at  her  friend  inquiringly,  and  Mrs. 
Davis,  after  a  little  pause,  said,  "  I  think,  dear,  that  it  is  only 
right  for  you  to  know  that  the  doctor  thinks  your  father's 
health  is  failing.  It  cannot  be  a  surprise  altogether  to  you, 
though  you  may  not  have  realized  (seeing  him  every  day) 
how  much  he  has  failed  since  last  autumn  ;  and  I  cannot  tell 
you,  dear  child,  how  it  has  troubled  me — and  all  your  friends, 
indeed — to  think  of  your  being  so  far  away  from  us,  in  that 
lonely  house !  So,  one  day,  when  we  were  talking  about  it 
with  Dr.  Somers,  he  proposed  that  I  should  have  you  come 

here  for  a  little  visit,  and  then  keep  you  while as  long  as 

you  could  be  contented.  I  cannot  bear  to  think  of  your  going 
back.  I  will  just  go  and  see  your  father  and  the  doctor  ;  " 
and  she  started  to  leave  the  room. 

Margaret  had  sat  motionless,  with  pale  face  and  tightly- 
clasped  hands,  while  Mrs.  Davis  talked  to  her ;  but  now  she 
caught  her  friend's  hand  : 


176  MAKGAKET I 

"  No,  no,  don't  go.  I  know  lie  will  not  be  willing  to 
stay,  and  I  cannot  have  him  disturbed  by  persuasions.  You 
are  so  kind — I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  appreciate  all  you 
have  done  and  would  do,  but  we  will  go  home.  Miss  Patty 
will  stay  with  me  and  I  shall  have  all  the  help  I  need ; "  and 
Margaret  went  back  to  her  father,  while  Mrs.  Davis'  kind 
heart  was  wrung  with  painful  sympathy,  as  she  thought  of 
the  trial  that  awaited  her. 

The  next  day,  with  Dr.  Somers'  help,  Mr.  Crosby  reached 
home  safely  and  comfortably,  and  the  relief  was  so  great  to 
Margaret  that  she  felt  almost  hopeful  again;  but  even 
in  the  doctor's  cheery,  encouraging  words  ;to  her  father, 
she  clearly  discovered  a  nameless  something  that  kept  her 
heart  awe-stricken  and  heavy — the  more  as  she  saw  that 
Patty,  too,  looked  at  him,  as  he  lay  on  the  sofa,  with  a  little 
ominous  shake  of  the  head ;  though  when  she  saw  that  Mar 
garet's  eyes  were  upon  her,  she  put  on  a  busy  air,  and  began 
to  tell  how  things  had  gone  on  since  they  had  been  away. 

"  Oh,  my  dear ! "  she  exclaimed,  running  to  the  stand- 
drawer  and  producing  a  letter,  which  she  held  up  at  arm's- 
length  ;  "  see  what  Jotham  got  from  the  mail  this  morning. 
I  was  going  to  send  it  over  to-night,  if  you  hadn't  come 
home  before  I  had  a  chance." 

Margaret  opened  the  envelope,  and  found  enclosed  in  a 
letter  from  Dr.  Doane  one  from  George,  the  sight  of  whose 
boyish  handwriting  brought  the  tears  to  her  eyes. 

"Father,"  she  said,  sitting  down  by  him,  "here  is  a  let 
ter  from  Dr.  Doane,  in  which  he  tells  us  of  their  safe  and 
happy  arrival  at  home,  and  says  that  the  boys  have  behaved 
like  little  gentlemen  ever  since  they  left  us ;  besides, — what 
do  you  think !  here  is  one  from  George,  and  I  will  read  it  to 
you ;  shall  I  ?  " 

Mr.  Crosby  assented,  and  Margaret  began : 

Dear  aunty,  you  never  saw  such  a  big  splendid  house  as  this  is  that  we  have 
come  to  live  to  it  is  as  big  as  our  house  and  the  barn  and  the  pig  pen  and  more  too 
all  piled  up  together  and  me  and  Jack  have  had  lots  of  candy  and  mother  says 
we  are  going  to  hare  a  guvincss  to  teach  us,  I  don't  want  to  learn  now,  I  drathur 
walk  round  and  look  at  the  houses.  There  arc  some  here  biggern  this,  I  just 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   PKAIKIE   HOME.  177 

wish  you  could  see  them.  Saintlouy  is  chuck  full  of  houses  and  folks,  but  I 
don't  know  any  boys  yet  but  Jack  and  he  dont  go  for  much  cause  he  is  a  little 
sick  and  cryes  every  night  for  you  and  doctor  Doane  gives  him  some  little  white 
pills  for  city  air.  mother  wears  hansome  dresses  all  the  time  after  she  gets  up 
mornings  and  calls  us  mylove  and  mydear  just  like  you  do,  I  did  cry  my  own 
selph  a  few  times  cause  I  could  not  kiss  you  good  night  but  I  got  some  picture 
books,  and  now  I  am  going  to  ride.  Give  my  love  to  granfather.  and  give  him 
two  kisses  for  me,  and  give  my  love  to  Jothum.  and  I  send  my  love  to  you.  o  o 
o  o  o  those  are  kisses  from  your  dear 

GEORGE. 

Mr.  Crosby  seemed  to  be  a  little  amused  by  this  epistolary 
effort  of  George,  but  he  soon  relapsed  into  the  melancholy 
silence  of  the  last  day  or  two. 

Margaret  had  felt,  when  Fanny  and  the  boys  were  gone, 
that  she  must  have  her  father  nearer  her  at  night ;  and  he 
had  taken  Fanny's  room  very  willingly,  keeping  his  own 
room  down-stairs  for  his  use  during  the  day ;  but  this  night 
he  was  too  feeble  to  climb  the  stairs,  and  Margaret  rested  on 
the  lounge.  Through  the  watchful,  anxious  weeks  which 
which  followed,  that  arrangement  was  maintained. 

Often,  during  those  weeks,  when  her  voice  was  cheerful, 
and  her  lips  ever  ready  to  smile  if  her  father's  eyes  met  hers, 
her  heart  ached  almost  beyond  endurance,  as  she  looked  in 
vain  for  a  change  from  his  utterly  sad,  mournful  expression. 
She  knew  he  listened  eagerly  when  she  read  to  him  from  the 
Bible ;  but  however  cheering  and  encouraging  the  passages 
she  chose,  they  never  caused  a  gleam  of  hope  or  peace  to 
take  the  place  of  those  lines  of  sadness. 

One  day  as  she  read,  she  glanced  up  from  the  Book,  as 
she  often  did,  and  her  heart  almost  stood  still  when  she  saw 
great  tears  forcing  themselves  from  under  the  closed  lids, 
and  trickling  down  the  wasted  cheeks.  There  was  silence 
for  a  moment,  save  for  that  quick,  sobbing  breath,  and  then 
Mr.  Crosby  broke  it. 

"  Margaret,  what  shall  I  do  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  dear  father,  Jesus  has  done  every  thing." 

"  Will  His  sacrifice  cover  the  guilt  of  a  wasted  life  ?  " 

"  Pear  father,  yes.     It  covers  every  tiling.     *  The  blood 
of  Jesus  Christ  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin.'  " 
8* 


178  MARGARET. 

"  I  professed  to  love  Him,  and  I  have  done  nothing  foi 
Him — worse  than  nothing." 

"  Leave  it  all  with  Him,  father.  He  ia  full  of  compas 
sion."  And  then  she  read  again  some  of  the  full,  free  prom 
ises  of  God's  love. 

This  was  the  first  of  many  brief  talks  they  had;  and 
though  Mr.  Crosby  still  mourned  over  the  past,  the  hopeless 
look  passed  away — he  could  receive  unquestioningly  the 
sense  of  pardon  and  peace  which  entered  his  heart. 

The  first  day  of  June  dawned,  bright  and  cloudless,  but 
it  was  not  so  bright  as  the  "  perfect  day  "  upon  which  Mr 
Crosby  entered  before  its  close. 

Dr.  Doane  arrived  the  night  before,  and  together  he  and 
Margaret  watched  while  the  spirit  took  its  peaceful  flight  to 
that  world  where,  through  the  loving-kindness  of  the  gra 
cious  Redeemer,  even  the  memory  of  a  wasted  life  cannot 
mar  the  exceeding  and  eternal  weight  of  glory  of  those  who, 
by  faith,  enter  therein. 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

I  am  BO  worn,  so  weary,  so  o'erspent, 

To  lie  with  thee  in  that  calm  trance  were  sweet ; 

The  bitter  myrrh  of  long-remembered  pain 

May  work  in  me  new  strength  to  rise  again.  Mas.  STOW*. 

MARGARET  would  have  been  glad  to  remain  quietly  at 
home,  after  her  i'ather's  death,  but  she  could  not  withstand 
the  united  entreaties  and  arguments  of  her  friends,  who  con 
sidered  it  entirely  out  of  the  question  that  she  should  stay  in 
her  desolate  home.  Both  Mrs.  Davis  and  Mrs.  Thomas  urged 
her  coming  to  them  for  a  time,  but  Dr.  Doane  would  not  lis 
ten  to  any  plan  but  her  returning  with  him  to  St.  Louis ;  and 
Dr.  Somers  favored  it  so  strongly  that  she  at  length  yielded, 
and  the  day  but  one  after  the  funeral  was  set  for  their  de 
parture. 

Margaret  gently  but  firmly  refused  to  consider  Dr.  Doane's 
proposal  that  the  farm  should  be  sold  at  once,  and  that  her 
home  should  be  with  him  and  Fanny,  and  the  subject  was 
dropped  for  the  present,  though  the  idea  of  Margaret's  com 
ing  back  to  carry  on  the  farm  and  lead  such  a  lonely  life,  was 
too  repugnant  to  be  harbored  for  a  moment.  He  trusted 
the  matter  would  adjust  itself,  when  she  had  been  with  her 
sister  and  the  boys  for  a  time,  and  found  that  she  was  as 
necessary  to  them  as  ever. 

The  few  arrangements  for  Margaret's  absence  were  readily 
made.  Patty  gladly  remained  to  care  for  every  thing,  Brid 
get  was  to  come  whenever  she  was  needed,  and  Jotham  was 
to  keep  the  even  tenor  of  the  faithful,  painstaking  way  he 
had  lately  fallen  into,  with  such  help  as  he  required ;  and 
Margaret  knew  that  there  was  no  room  for  a  single  anxiety. 

The  morning  of  her  last  day  at  home — they  were  to  go 
on  the  evening  train — Margaret  drove  to  the  village  grave 
yard,  to  plant  roses  and  heliotrope  beside  the  newly-made 
grave;  and  there  the  thought  of  her  father,  beyond  the 


180  MARGARET : 

reach  of  pain  and  weariness  and  self-reproach,  was  overborne 
by  the  sense  of  her  own  loss — of  the  emptiness  and  dreari 
ness  of  her  life — and  desolate  tears  fell  on  the  flowers,  and 
on  the  grave  where  lay  the  only  one  who  had  needed  her  in 
the  wide  world. 

Patty  knew  where  Margaret  had  gone,  and  saw,  with  an 
aching  heart,  the  traces  of  grief  when  she  returned  home ; 
but,  after  her  usual  custom,  she  looked  for  the  silver  lining 
to  the  dark  cloud  that  overshadowed  the  present ;  and  when, 
with  Mrs.  Somers,  and  Mrs.  Davis,  and  Mr.  Thomas,  she 
stood  watching  the  carriage  that  bore  the  travellers  to  the 
depot,  she  sent  the  most  fervent  wishes  and  prayers  after  her 
darling. 

Margaret  had  not  realized  how  very  weary  and  worn  she 
was,  until  she  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  still  and  listen  to 
Dr.  Doane,  or  to  watch  the  gently  undulating  country,  in  its 
June  freshness,  and  the  slowly-fading  sunset  glow.  And  after 
a  while,  as  darkness  crept  on  and  the  stars  appeared,  she  was 
glad  to  be  made  comfortable,  and  yield  to  the  drowsiness 
that  came  over  her.  During  the  long,  tedious  hours  of  the 
next  day,  and  at  midnight,  when  they  reached  St.  Louis,  and 
Dr.  Doane's  house,  she  seemed  in  a  bewildered  dream.  They 
were  apparently  unexpected,  and  Dr.  Doane  said,  as  she 
stood  gazing  dreamily  around  the  strange  room,  "  Sit  down 
here  a  moment,  Margaret,  while  I  see  if  Fanny  is  awake,  and 
will  see  you  to-night." 

"  Fanny  is  asleep,"  he  said,  coming  back  soon.  "  Her 
maid  says  she  has  been  unwell  all  day,  and  I  do  not  like 
to  disturb  her.  J  hope  you  will  not  mind  waiting  till  morn- 
ing." 

"  Oh  no,"  Margaret  answered ;  "  it  is  so  late,  no  wonder 
she  did  not  sit  up  for  us." 

Presently  a  servant  came  in  to  show  Margaret  to  her 
room. 

"  Good-night,  my  poor  tired  sister,"  Dr.  Doaue  said,  tak 
ing  her  hand,  and  looking  sorrowfully  into  her  face.  "  I  hope 
vou  will  sleep,  and  feel  better  to-morrow.  Scylla,  see  that  no 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PKAIEIE   HOME.  181 

one  disturbs  Miss  Crosby  in  the  morning,  and  that  the  house 
is  kept  very  quiet." 

"  Never  fear  but  I  shall  sleep,"  Margaret  said,  with  a 
poor  attempt  at  a  smile  ;  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were  dreaming  al 
ready." 

The  sun  was  shining  when  she  awoke,  and  the  sense  of 
bewilderment  came  over  her  again  as  she  surveyed  her  luxu 
riously  furnished  room,  so  unlike  her  little  chamber  at  home. 
She  lay  for  a  while  thinking  of  Fanny,  longing  yet  dreading 
to  see  her,  and  know  the  effect  of  their  bereavement — of  the 
boys,  realizing  with  a  thrill  of  delight  that  she  should  soon 
have  them  in  her  arms,  and  wondering  if  they  knew  she  had 
come  ;  and  then  rose,  thinking  that  she  would  dress  and  go 
in  search  of  them,  though  she  listened  in  vain  for  some  noise 
to  betoken  that  any  body  was  astir  in  the  house. 

She  was  just  ready  to  leave  her  room,  and  stood  a  mo 
ment  at  the  window  to  look  out  into  the  wide,  pleasant  street, 
when  there  was  a  sound  of  footsteps  in  the  hall,  and  voices, 
at  first  suppressed,  but  growing  louder,  until  George's  was 
distinct,  in  angry  altercation  with  a  stranger's. 

"You  just  let  me  alone.     I  will  go  in ;  I  say  I  will ! " 

The  door-knob  was  seized,  but  the  hand  that  seized  it  was 
evidently  snatched  away,  and  the  strange  voice  exclaimed 
sharply,  "  You  wicked  child,  you  shall  not  go  in.  Come 
away,  or  I  shall  myself  carry  you ;  "  and  the  scuffling  began 
again. 

Margaret  had  at  first  hesitated  to  enter  upon  the  scene  of 
conflict ;  but  now  she  opened  the  door,  and  beheld  George 
dragged  along  the  hall  by  a  woman  of  slight  figure  in  a  black 
dress.  She  had  nearly  overtaken  them  before  the  captor  or 
the  captive  saw  her,  and  then  George,  who  was  the  first  to 
espy  her,  with  a  scream  of  joy  and  one  frantic  struggle,  re 
leased  himself  and  was  in  her  arms. 

"  Oh,  Aunty !  oh  Aunty  ! "  he  cried,  as  he  clung  to  her, 
and  she  held  him  close,  unconscious  of  the  eyes  that  were  re 
garding  her  so  steadily.  After  a  minute  or  two  Margaret  re 
membered  that  they  were  not  alone,  and  looked  up  smilingly. 


182  MAJRGAEET I 

"  You  must  excuse  us,"  she  said,  as  her  eyes  met  the 
sharp,  glittering  black  ones  of  the  person  to  whom  she  was 
speaking;  "but  it  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  seen  each 
other,  Georgie  and  I ; "  and  she  put  back  the  boy's  tumbled 
hair,  looking  lovingly  into  his  face. 

"  I  must  only  regret " — and  the  voice  and  manner,  though 
perfectly  polished  and  very  soft,  struck  Margaret  as  strangely 
out  of  keeping  with  the  cold,  hard  eyes — "  that  Mademoi 
selle  should  have  seen  such  a  most  unlovely  display  of  tem 
per  on  the  part  of  her  nephew ; "  and  the  black  eyes  glit 
tered  more  than  ever  as  they  glanced  at  George,  who  turned 
upon  her  fiercely. 

"  I'll  tell  my  Aunty  what  a  hateful  old  thing  you  are." 

"  My  dear  Georgie  ! "  exclaimed  Margaret,  and  her  gentle 
tone  subdued  him  at  once. 

"  H'elas!  if  you  were  only  as  good  and  amiable  as  your 
little  brother !  " 

"  I  am  as  good  as  he  is !  Jack's  a  little  sneak,"  cried 
George,  roused  again  by  the  smooth  voice,  which  seemed  to 
exasperate  him  beyond  endurance. 

"  I  shall  inform  your  mamma,  mon  petit,  that  you  are  in 
disgrace  to-day,  and  must  not  leave  the  school-room ;  "  and 
the  French  governess,  with  a  formal  inclination  of  her  head 
to  Margaret,  turned  to  leave  the  hall,  just  as  Jack  entered. 
She  stooped  to  kiss  him,  before  he  had  a  chance  to  see  his 
aunt,  paying,  "  My  dear,  little  boy,  you  have  behaved  your 
self  charmingly  this  morning,  and  I  am  very  much  pleased 
with  you.  Now  I  have  a  surprise  for  my  Jacko  ;  "  and  she 
took  his  hand  to  lead  him  towards  Margaret,  who,  with  her 
arm  around  George,  had  been  looking  and  listening ;  but 
one  glance  was  enough  to  make  him  break  away,  and  Mar 
garet  clasped  him  to  her  heart,  with  an  undefined  feeling 
that  she  must  hold  him  there  to  keep  him  from  threatening 
evils. 

"Why,  Aunty,  I  didn't  know  you'd  come,"  he  cried. 
"  Did  you  just  get  here  ?  " 

"  No,  Jackie,  I   came   last  night,  long  after  you  were 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  183 

asleep,"  answered  Margaret,  looking  into  his  face  and  kissing 
it  again  tenderly,  as  she  felt  that  it  was  just  the  same,  sweet 
and  childish,  as  when  she  saw  it  last. 

"  Well,  didn't  Georgie  go  to  sleep  when  I  did  ?  "  asked 
Jack,  evidently  wondering  how  it  happened  that  he  was  be 
hindhand  in  the  happy  discovery  of  his  aunt's  arrival. 

"  I  suppose  so,  dear.  I  found  him  here  a  few  minutes 
ago." 

"  I  shall  tell  you  how  it  was,  my  little  Jacko,"  interposed 
Mademoiselle.  "  Your  brother,  quite  contrary  to  my  wish,  left 
the  nursery  whenever  be  was  dressed,  while  you,  mon  cher, 
were  still  sleeping ;  and  when  I  come  to  look  for  him,  I  find 
him  just  about  to  enter  the  chamber  of  his  aunt,  who  was  so 
very  tired  and  needed  rest.  I  am  sure  you  would  not  have 
been  so  unkind." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  gone  in  for  any  thing,"  answered  Jack, 
much  elated  at  this  comparison  of  George's  and  his  virtues. 

"  My  Aunty  always  gets  up  early,"  cried  George,  grow 
ing  hot  again  ;  "she  wanted  to  see  me,  I  know  she  did.  I 
don't  care  if  you  do  love  Jack  better  than  you  do  me ;  she 
don't,"  and  George  drew  Margaret's  arm  around  his  neck, 
looking  defiance  at  his  governess. 

"  I  suppose  the  children  have  no  tasks  till  after  breakfast, 
and,  if  you  please,  I  will  keep  them  with  me  now.'*  Made 
moiselle  bowed  her  assent,  and  Margaret  turned  away,  fol 
lowed  through  the  hall  and  down  the  stairs  by  the  cold 
black  eyes. 

"  How  did  you  know  that  I  had  come,  Geoi'gie  ? "  she 
asked,  as  they  sat  down  in  the  pleasant  breakfast-room, 
where  the  soft  June  air  came  through  the  open  windows, 
wafting  in  the  perfume  of  flowers  from  the  garden. 

"  Scylla  told  me,"  was  the  reply. 

"And  whoisScylla?" 

"  Scylla  1  why,  she's  our  black  help,  Jack's  and  mine." 

"  Oh,  Goorgie,"  cried  Jack,  "  ain't  you  ashamed  to  call  it 
*  help  ? '  Maddemoyselle  says — " 

"  I  don't  care  what  she  says,"  exclaimed  George,  fiercely. 


184:  MAKGAKET  : 

*'  I  will  say  '  help,'  if  I  want  to,  and  she  can't  make  me 
not." 

"I'll  tell — "  Jack  began,  but  stopped. 

"  Do  go  and  tell  her,  and  get  me  kept  in  !  I've  got  to  be 
kept  in  anyhow,  so  you  won't  make  much." 

"  Aunty,"  said  Jack,  "  should  Georgie  say  '  help  ?  ' 
That's  what  they  say  on  farms,  not  in  the  city.  Scylla  is 
our  nurse.  She  waits  on  Georgie  and  me,  but  Georgie 
pushes  and  kicks  her  sometimes  when  she  wants  to  dress 
him." 

"  I  don't  care ;  I  ain't  a  baby,"  began  George,  but  Marga 
ret  laid  her  fingers  over  his  lips. 

"  Don't  tell  me  any  more  things  that  Georgie  does,  unless 
they  are  good  things,"  she  said  to  Jack.  Then  she  looked 
at  them  sadly.  "  Georgie,  Jackie,  have  you  nothing  to  ask 
me  about  your  grandfather  ?  " 

"  Mother  told  us  he  was  dead,"  said  George,  in  awe- 
stricken  tones. 

"  Yes,  the  telegraph-letter  came,  and  this  morning  Scylla 
put  on  our  mourning,"  said  Jack,  admiring  his  new  black 
clothes,  and  long  black  silk  stockings. 

"  He  sent  his  love  and  a  good-by  to  you  both,"  Margaret 
said,  with  a  feeling  of  sad  disappointment  which  she  checked, 
saying  that  it  was  but  natural.  How  could  they  realize  what 
had  happened? 

"  Mother  had  Maddemoyselle  go  out  yesterday,  and  buy 
lots  of  black  things,"  said  Jack,  "  and  I  went  with  her  in 
the  carriage." 

"  She  wouldn't  let  me  go,"  said  George. 

"  No,  'cause  you  didn't  say  your  French  lesson  good," 
responded  Jack. 

"  Has  grandpa  gone  to  heaven  ?  "  asked  George. 

"Yes,  Georgie,  and  he  is  very  happy  now." 

"  Has  he  seen  our  papa  and  grandmamma  ? — you  know 
they  are  both  up  there,"  said  George,  earnestly. 

Margaret  had  no  chance  to  reply,  as  Dr.  Doane  came  in 
just  then,  and  the  children  ran  to  meet  him. 


A   8TORT   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  185 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself  this  morning,  Margaret  ?  "  he 
said. 

"  I  am  very  well,  and  quite  rested,  thank  you ; "  but  Dr. 
Doane  thought  that  her  looks  contradicted  her  words. 

o 

"  Boys,  we  must  be  so  good  to  your  Aunty  that  she  will 
never  want  to  leave  us." 

"  We  won't  let  her  go !  "  cried  the  boys,  as  Dr.  Doane 
rang  the  bell  for  breakfast. 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  Fanny  does  not  feel  able  to  come  down 
this  morning.  She  has  not  been  well  since  I  left  home,'  and 
thinks  that  meeting  you  will  be  all  she  can  endure." 

"  Shall  I  go  to  her  now  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  I  think  we  will  have  breakfast  first,"  Dr.  Doane  replied. 
"  Fanny  said  she  would  send  for  you ;  and  you  must  content 
yourself  with  my  society  till  she  does." 

Mademoiselle  appeared  as  they  were  seating  themselves, 
and  with  a  "  Good-morning,  Monsieur,"  and  a  polite  bow  to 
Margaret,  she  placed  herself  between  the  two  boys,  and 
confined  her  attention  to  them,  apparently  absorbed  in  her 
duties,  unless  she  was  spoken  to.  There  was  no  sign  of  any 
partiality  for  Jack.  She  checked  George's  boisterous  way 
of  talking,  as  softly  and  gently  as  she  did  Jack's  propensity 
to  lean  his  elbows  on  the  table  and  eat  lazily. 

When  they  left  the  table,  she  approached  Margaret,  and 
said,  in  the  most  deferential  manner,  "  Miss  Crosby,  Madame 
bid  me  say  to  you,  when  you  have  finished  your  breakfast,  that 
she  will  see  you  in  her  chamber.  But — pardon  ! — Madame  is 
not  strong.  She  cannot  bear  excitement.  If  Miss  Crosby 
will  be  very  calm — " 

Margaret  followed  Mademoiselle  up-stairs,  Dr.  Doane 
detaining  the  boys,  who  would  have  gone  too.  As  she 
entered  Fanny's  room,  she  was  reminded  of  fairy-tale  descrip 
tions  of  enchanted  palaces — every  thing  was  so  bright  and 
luxurious,  the  fragrance  of  flowers  adding  to  the  charm. 
Fanny  lay  on  a  couch,  the  soft  white  drapery  of  her  dress 
arranged  with  graceful  effect,  and  raised  herself  languidly  as 
her  sister  came  near.  Margaret  knelt  by  her  side,  putting 


186  MARGABET  I 

her  arms  around  her,  and  looked  eagerly  into  her  face ;  but 
only  for  an  instant,  as  Fanny  quickly  laid  her  head  back  on 
the  cushions,  and  put  her  delicate  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  Pardon,  Miss  Crosby,"  said  Mademoiselle  softly,  "  but 
do  not  excite  Madame ; "  and  then  she  looked  at  her  watch, 
and  left  the  room. 

Margaret  still  knelt,  and  there  was  silence  for  a  moment ; 
then  she  laid  her  cheek  against  Fanny's,  and  whispered, 
"  Dear  father  sent  his  love  and  a  good-by  to  you,  Fanny,  and 
hoped  to  meet  you  in  heaven." 

Fanny  gave  a  hysteric  sob,  and  Margaret  arose  as  the 
maid  came  with  a  cologne-bottle  and  fan.  She  bathed  her 
mistress'  face  and  chafed  her  hands,  and  then  plied  the  fan. 

"I  feel  better  now,"  Fanny  said,  faintly,  opening  her 
eyes  after  a  minute  or  two.  "  I  have  been  really  ill,  Mar 
garet,  for  the  last  week ;  my  nerves  will  hardly  bear  any 
thing.  I  was  ill  when  Walter  left  me." 

"  I  was  sorry  that  you  could  not  come,  too,"  said  Mar 
garet. 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Fanny,  "  I  could  not  have  borne  that. 
Even  if  I  had  been  fit  for  the  journey,  I  never  could  have 
lived  through  that" 

Whatever  Margaret  thought,  she  made  no  comment,  and 
presently  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Madame  Larisse  has  come,"  said  the  maid  who  answered 
the  knock. 

"Has  she?  Well,  let  her  come  in.  It  is  the  dress 
maker,"  she  said  to  Margaret,  ';come  to  try  on  my  black 
dresses.  Black  is  rather  becoming  to  you,  but  I  am  afraid  I 
shall  look  like  a  very  fright  in  it." 

"  Ah,  Madame !  "  cried  the  modiste,  who  had  entered  in 
time  to  hear  Fanny's  remark.  "  How  you  can  say  such 
wicked  t'ings  of  yourselve !  You  look  like  one  angel  in 
white,  in  black,  in  every  colors ;  "  and  she  proceeded  to  open 
her  box,  and  take  out  the  dresses  she  had  brought  home. 

"  Ah !  look  Madame  !  "  she  cried,  spreading  one  over  a 
chair,  and  standing  off  to  admire  it.  "  I  cannot  wait  till  I 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE  IN  A   PRAIRIE  HOME.  187 

see  it  on.  Madame's  figure  "will  show  it  to  such  an  advan 
tage. — Ah,  what  pleasure  to  work  for  you,  Madame,"  she 
continued,  as  Fanny,  having  put  on  the  dress,  walked  the 
length  of  the  room  to  display  the  effect  of  the  train,  with  its 
deep  crape  folds.  "  She  do  me  more  credit  than  all  my  other 
ladies  put  together.  Such  a  figure  !  " 

"  It  does  fit  me  elegantly,  Margaret ;  but  oh,  dear !  doesn't 
it  make  me  look  perfectly  ghastly  ?  " 

"  Eh !  what  do  I  hear  ?  So  many  time  have  I  seen 
Madame,  and  always  beautiful,  I  never  see  her  look  so  like 
one  angel  as  at  this  moment.  Is  it  not  that  it  is  true  ?  "  she 
said,  appealing  to  Margaret. 

"  I  always  thought  my  sister  beautiful,"  answered  Mar 
garet,  looking  admiringly  at  Fanny,  who  certainly  might 
have  challenged  any  body's  admiration,  as  she  stood  in  grace 
ful  attitude,  her  fair  hair  becomingly  arranged,  and  a  delicate 
color  in  her  cheeks. 

"  Mille  pardons,  but  are  you  Madame's  sister  ?  "  asked 
the  modiste,  laying  her  hand  lightly  on  Margaret's  arm. 

"  Yes,  Madame  Larisse ;  this  is  my  sister,  Miss  Crosby, 
and  you  must  try  your  skill  upon  her  figure.  You  know 
what  country  dressmakers  are ; "  and  Fanny  looked  apolo 
getically  at  Margaret's  plain  dress. 

Madame  Larisse  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  cast  her 
eyes  up  to  the  ceiling.  "  Ah,  oui,  it  is  indeed  So ;  but  if 
your  sister  will  allow  me,  I  shall  be  only  too  happy  to  serve 
her.  Such  grace  of  contour  !  " 

"  I  do  hope  you  will  let  Madame  fit  you,  Margaret,  and 
have  at  least  one  dress  that  is  not  outlandish  and  countri 
fied." 

"  Well,  I  have  no  desire  to  disgrace  you,  Fanny,"  replied 
Margaret,  smiling ;  "  but  shall  I  be  likely  to  see  any  body  now  ?  " 

"  See  any  body !  Of  course  you  will,  child.  You  will 
see  Walter's  family  constantly." 

So  Margaret  promised  to  buy  a  dress,  and  let  Madame 
make  it,  only  stipulating  that  it  should  not  be  so  imposing  as 
Fanny's,  as  she  would  have  to  wear  it  at  the  farm. 


188  MAEGAEET  : 

When  Madame  Larisse  had  departed,  Fanny  lay  down 
again,  as  if  wearied  out  with  her  exertions.  "  Walter  told 
me,"  she  said,  "  that  you  were  not  going  back  to  the  farm, 
but  were  to  make  your  home  with  us." 

"  I  don't  know  how  he  dared  to  tell  you  that,"  Margaret 
answered,  looking  up  at  Dr.  Doane,  who  came  in  at  the 
moment,  and  shaking  her  head  reprovingly. 

"  Whatever  I  have  dared  to  tell  was  the  truth,"  he 
replied,  bending  to  kiss  Fanny,  and  sitting  down  beside  her. 

"  Didn't  you  tell  me,  Walter,  that  Margaret  was  to  stay 
with  us,  and  not  go  back  to  the  farm  any  more  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  love,  I  did,"  said  the  doctor ;  ':  but  I  did  not 
expect  you  to  mention  it  to  her.  It's  a  secret ;  I  told  you  in 
strict  confidence,  and  would  not  have  had  you  repeat  it  to 
her,  of  all  people  in  the  world." 

Margaret  smiled.  "  You  see,  Fanny,  Dr.  Doane  knew 
that  I  only  purposed  making  you  a  little  visit — that  when 
you  start  for  your  travels,  I  shall  start  for  my  home,  and  be 
a  farmer,  for  this  year  at  least,  and  maybe  for  all  my  life." 

"  How  can  you  endure  the  thought  of  such  a  life  as  that, 
Margaret !  "  exclaimed  Fanny. 

"  Do  not  talk  to  her  about  it,  Fanny,"  said  Dr.  Doane. 
"  She  doesn't  know  her  own  mind,  and  we  must  not  encour 
age  her  to  express  it  at  present.  I  came  up  to  see  when  you 
will  have  the  carriage.  I  can  go  with  you  for  a  drive  this 
morning." 

"  I  cannot  go  out  this  morning,"  said  Fanny,  decidedly. 
"  My  hat  came  home  last  night,  the  veriest  fright.  I  had  to 
send  it  back  to  be  altered,  and  it  will  not  be  returned  before 
two  o'clock." 

Dr.  Doane  looked  disappointed,  but  brightened  up  again 
after  a  pause.  "I  should  not  wonder  if  I.  could  do  my 
business  this  morning  after  all,  and  go  with  you  this  after 
noon  ;  and  that  will  be  better,  for  the  boys  will  be  through 
their  lessons,  and  can  go  too." 

Fanny's  face  changed.  "  George  cannot  leave  the  school 
room  and  nursery  to-day,"  she  said.  . 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A    PBAIKIE   HOME.  189 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  to-day  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Doane 
anxiously. 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Fanny,  "I  did  not  inquire 
into  the  affair ;  but  Mademoiselle  informed  me  that  he 
had  behaved  disgracefully  this  morning,  and  she  hoped  you 
would  not  interfere  with  her  discipline,  as  you  did  the  other 
day." 

"  Interfere  !  "  said  Dr.  Doane.  "  Mademoiselle  is  rather 
too  presuming." 

Fanny  colored  a  little  as  she  replied,  that  Mademoiselle 
only  meant  to  do  her  duty,  that  it  was  quite  necessary  to 
uphold  her  authority,  and  that  she  was  the  best  judge  of 
when  the  boys  needed  punishment. 

"  I  believe  I  am  the  cause  of  Georgie's  disgrace  this 
morning,"  said  Margaret,  who  had  listened  with  painful 
interest.  "  Scylla  told  him  that  I  was  here,  and  his  impa 
tience  to  see  me  overcame  his  discretion." 

"  There,  my  dear,"  cried  Dr.  Doane,  much  relieved,  "  I 
knew  there  was  nothing  serious  enough  to  warrant  his  being 
kept  in  close  confinement  all  day." 

"You  do  not  know  the  circumstances,  Walter,"  said 
Fanny,  with  undisguised  annoyance.  "I  know  from  Made 
moiselle's  manner  that  George  was  very  rude  and  ungovern 
able.  The  truth  is,"  she  added,  "  that  the  boys  have  both 
been  petted  and  spoiled  all  their  lives.  My  own  ill  health 
has  prevented  my  controlling  them  as  I  should  have  done, 
and,  now  that  we  have  some  one  who  understands  them,  and 
has  the  judgment  and  strength  of  mind  requisite,  what  folly 
it  would  be  to  interfere  with  her  government." 

"  I  have  not  seen  any  remarkable  proofs  that  she  does 
understand  them,"  said  Dr.  Doane,  a  little  dryly.  "  I  think 
she  seems  very  severe  with  George,  and  very  lenient  and 
indulgent  with  Jack." 

"  Walter,  that  just  shows  how  well  you  understand  the 
boys.  George  is  headstrong  and  fiery-tempered,  and  not  in 
the  least  affectionate ;  while  Jack  is  gentle,  loving,  and 
amiable,  and  it  would  certainly  be  very  poor  proof  of  dis- 


190  MAEGAEET  : 

crimination  if  Mademoiselle  were  as  severe  -with  Jack  as  she 
is  with  George." 

Dr.  Doane  looked  sober  and  unconvinced,  but  he  dropped 
the  subject,  and  left  the  room  soon  after,  saying,  with  an 
attempt  at  his  naturally  cheerful  tones,  "  Well,  my  dear,  then 
we  will  meet  at  dinner,  and  have  our  drive  as  soon  after  as 
you  can  be  ready." 

Margaret  was  afraid  that  Fanny  might  refer  to  the  vexed 
question  again,  and  so  said  that  she  would  go  to  her  room  for 
awhile,  and  should  consider  herself  sufficiently  at  home  to 
explore  the  house,  if  she  felt  inclined. 

"  Do  just  as  you  please,  of  course,  Margaret,  only  don't 
go  into  the  school-room  this  morning.  You  shall  go  some 
time,  but  not  to-day.  Mademoiselle  expressed  the  hope  that 
they  should  be  undisturbed  to-day." 

Margaret  went  to  her  room,  so  utterly  down-hearted  and 
hopeless,  that  she  felt  no  inclination  to  leave  it  till  she  was 
called  to  dinner.  She  looked  in  vain,  through  all  she  had 
seen  and  heard,  for  one  token  of  improvement,  or  even  possi 
bility  for  improvement,  in  her  sister.  The  love  of  a  true, 
manly  heart,  had  not  developed  any  tenderness,  and  the  taste 
and  beauty  and  devotion  that  met  her  at  every  turn  seemed 
only  to  minister  to  her  selfishness  and  vanity ;  while  their 
father's  death  had,  so  far  as  Margaret  could  see,  failed  to 
arouse  one  genuine  emotion  of  grief  or  regret,  or  one  thought 
more  earnest  than  that  her  mourning  should  be  becoming  and 
suitable.  She  had  for  long  years  been  hoping  that,  through 
the  discipline  of  their  clouded  lives,  some  pure  gold  might 
come  forth  from  all  the  dross  in  Fanny's  nature ;  but  the 
purifying  fires  seemed  to  have  wholly  failed  of  their  object ; 
and  could  she  hope  that  prosperity  would  do  more  ?  She 
thought  of  him  who  must  soon  awake  from  his  dream,  to 
find  his  ideal  vanished,  and  a  hollow  heart  in  a  beautiful 
casket  in  its  place — and  bitter  tears  fell  for  him.  And  the 
boys — what  could  save  them  from  the  effects  of  such  influ 
ences  as  those  to  which  they  were  subjected  ?  She  was  not 
hopeless  for  them.  Their  young  hearts  were  still  guileless 


A  8TOEY  OF  LIFE  IN   A  PRAIRIE   HOME.  191 

and  fresh  ;  but  she  was  filled  with  keenest  solicitude,  and  felt 
that  she  must  leave  no  means  untried  to  rescue  them  from 
threatening  dangers. 

After  dinner,  at  which  neither  Mademoiselle  nor  the  bu^/  s 
appeared,  Margaret  and  Fanny  went  up  to  prepare  tor  their 
drive.  When  they  met  in  the  hall,  Fanny  laughed  as  she 
surveyed  Margaret's  plain  attire. 

"  Your  outfit  looks  decidedly  skimpy,  as  the  country 
people  say.  Walter,  I  think  we  must  take  Margaret  on  a 
shopping  expedition,  before  there  is  a  chance  of  her  meeting 
any  body.  I  don't  think  I  should  relish  introducing  her  in 
such  country  fixings." 

Dr.  Doane  looked  at  Margaret's  dress,  while  he  drew  on 
his  driving-gloves  and  she  smilingly  waited  for  his  verdict, 
and  then  at  Fanny,  in  her  elegant  mourning-dress,  and  long, 
heavy  veil. 

"  I  .-uppose,  being  a  man,  and  not  having  eyes  for  fine 
effects  in  ladies'  dresses,  that  my  taste  will  go  for  nothing ; 
but  I  cannot  see  any  thing  '  skimpy,'  as  you  say,  in  our  sister's 
dress.  I  think  she  looks  altogether  what  she  is,  and  that  is 
enough  to  say — is  it  not,  Fanny  darling  ?  " 

Fanny  assented,  but  not  heartily,  and  they  went  out  to 
the  carriage.  When  they  came  home,  besides  having  had  a 
charming  ride,  which  Margaret  fully  enjoyed,  they  had 
ordered  a  hat  and  veil,  and  bought  a  new  dress,  which  was 
to  be  put  at  once  into  Madame  Larisse's  hands. 

Dr.  Doane  was  called  away  soon  after  their  return,  and 
Fanuy  had  visitors,  so  that  Margaret  was  left  to  herself.  She 
went  to  her  own  room  again,  wondering  when  she  should 
see  her  boys.  The  twilight  was  beginning  to  fall,  and  she 
sat  busy  with  her  sad  thoughts,  when  quick,  light  footsteps 
in  the  hall  caught  her  ear ;  and  then  the  door  was  opened, 
and  shut  and  locked,  and  George  was  in  her  lap,  with  his 
arms  tightly  around  her  neck,  almost  before  she  knew  that  it 
was  he. 

She  soothed  and  caressed  him,  for  his  heart  was  beating 
violently,  and  he  was  all  out  of  breath.  After  a  little,  he 


192  MABGABET. 

lifted  his  head  from  her  shoulder,  and  exclaimed,  "  She 
couldn't  keep  me  away  from  you  all  night,  I  guess.  Hateful, 
horrid  old  thing  !  " 

Margaret  did  not  reprove  him,  but  she  drew  his  thoughts 
away  from  his  troubles,  by  telling  him  one  of  his  favorite 
stories.  Then  they  had  one  of  their  talks  about  being  good, 
and  she  told  him  some  things  about  his  grandfather.  When 
Scylla  came  for  him  to  go  to  bed,  he  whispered  to  his  Aunty 
that  he  had  not  said  his  prayers  for  a  whole  month,  but  he 
should  say  them  always  now ;  and  nobody  had  any  trouble 
with  him  that  night. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XVHL 

I  know  that  God  is  good,  though  evil  dwells 

Among  us,  and  doth  all  things  holiest  share ; 
That  painful  love  unsatisfied  hath  spells 

Earned  by  its  smart  to  soothe  its  fellow's  care. 

JEAN  IXGELOW. 

"ISN'T  that  dress  finished  yet,  Margaret?  I  am  afraid 
you  will  be  late  for  dinner,"  said  Fanny,  coming  into  her 
sister's  room  a  few  days  after  her  arrival,  and  finding  her 
busy  with  her  needle. 

"  I  shall  be  ready  in  time,"  answered  Margaret.  "  About 
ten  stitches  will  finish  my  dress,  and  ten  minutes  will  see  me 
arrayed  in  it." 

"To  think  of  any  body's  being  able  to  sew  such  weather 
as  this !  "  said  Fanny.  "  I  have  not  lifted  a  finger,  and  have 
barely  kept  alive.  Rosa  has  done  nothing  but  fan  me  and 
read  to  me,  a  few  minutes  at  a  time,  from  the  silliest  novel 
she  could  find." 

"  The  prospect  of  having  something  cool  to  wear  ha8 
sustained  me,"  replied  Margaret ;  "  but  it  has  required  no 
little  strength  of  mind  to  keep  at  it,  even  with  such  a  reward 
in  view." 

"  The  idea  of  possessing  any  strength  of  mind  such  a  day 
as  this!  You  were  foolish  not  to  let  Madame  make  that 
dress,  as  well  as  your  black  one.  She  would  have  given  it 
some  style.  I  am  afraid  you  will  look  like  a  representation 
of  rustic  simplicity  in  that  unadorned  white  muslin." 

"  You  forget  what  an  accomplished  mantuamaker  I  am," 
said  Margaret.  "  Did  not  I  make  all  your  wedding-dresses, 
and  did  they  not  fit  to  a  charm  ?  " 

"  Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  Margaret,  don't  speak  of  that !  " 
cried  Fanny,  casting  a  hasty  glance  around,  as  if  she  feared 
that  somebody  besides  herself  had  heard  Margaret's  refer- 
9 


194:  MAKGAKET  : 

ence  to  that  humiliating  fact.  "  My  dresses  fitted  well 
enough ;  bat,  dear  me !  I  had  to  have  new  ones  before  I 
could  go  out.  They  would  have  answered  very  well  for  a 
country -bride ;  but  the  fact  is,  we  became  so  accustomed 
to  plain  country  things,  that  we  needed  to  see  them  side 
by  side  with  style  and  taste  to  appreciate  the  difference. 
Now  you  must  hurry,"  she  said,  as  Margaret  took  off  her 
thimble,  and  laid  her  finished  dress  on  a  chair.  "  Cousin  Fred 
is  the  most  punctual  man  in  the  world,  and  always  expects  to 
have  dinner  at  the  stroke  of  the  clock ; "  and  she  left  her 
to  go  down  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Margaret  joined  her 
soon  after. 

"  Why,  really,  you  do  look  very  nice,"  she  said,  surveying 
Margaret.  "I  must  say  that,  for  a  home-made  dress,  and 
such  a  simple  one,  that  has  quite  an  air,  and  really  becomes 
you.  I  am  relieved,  for  Cousin  Fred  is  such  a  critic." 

"You  do  not  suppose  that  he  will  know  it  is  home 
made,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  in  a  tone  of  pretended 
anxiety. 

"  Not  unless  you  tell  him." 

"  Oh,  not  for  the  world !  "  exclaimed  Margaret. 

"  And,  by  the  way,"  said  Fanny,  rearranging  some  flowers 
on  a  little  stand  beside  her,  "  it  is  not  worth  while  to  refer  to 
the  farm,  or  any  thing  connected  with  it,  to  Cousin  Fred,  or 
any  of  Walter's  friends.  We  may  as  well  lose  sight  of  the 
fact  that  we  have  been  farmers  for  five  years,  when  we  are 
with  people  who  would  be  apt  to  regard  such  a  life  as  vulgar 
and  uncivilized." 

"  Are  Dr.  Doane's  friends  so  very  unlike  him  ?  "  asked 
Margaret,  quietly,  though  her  cheeks  glowed  and  her  eyes 
flashed. 

"  No,  no,  Margaret,"  replied  Fanny,  "  I  only  mean  that  it 
is  well  to  be  a  little  politic.  Walter  is  not  in  the  least  so, 
and  several  times,  when  he  has  referred  to  things  that  hap 
pened  during  his  visit,  and  to  Jotham  and  Miss  Patty,  and  so 
on,  I  have  fancied  that  I  noticed  a  curl  of  Cousin  Fred's 
lip,  or  something  in  the  tone  of  his  voice  that  made  me — 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE  IN  A  PEAIRIE    HOME.  195 

well,  feel  a  little  ill  at  ease ;  and  yet  it  may  have  been  only 
my  fancy.  But  I  do  think  we  might  be  somewhat  on  our 
guard." 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped,  for  the  credit  of  Mr.  Doane's  good 
sense,  that  it  was  a  fancy." 

"Well,  I  do  not  know,  Margaret,  one  must  allow  for 
people's  education  and  surroundings.  Now  the  Doane  family 
have  been  rich  and  respectable  for  generations  back,  and  it  is 
only  natural  that  they  should  not  be  able  to  associate  good 
birth  and  good  breeding  with  poverty  and  a  homely  style  of 
living." 

"  Walter  was  able  to  see  below  the  crust  of  our  poverty 
and  homeliness,"  said  Margaret;  "have  his  education  and 
surroundings  been  different  from  those  of  his  family  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  aggravating,  Margaret !  Of  course  they 
have  not;  but  Walter  was  in  love,  and  did  not  think  of 
conventionalities ;  and  besides,  it  is  very  different  to  see 
things,  and  to  hear  of  them." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  aggravating,  Fanny,"  said  Margaret, 
"but  I  have  no  patience  with  the  foolish,  false  ideas  of 
respectability  one  meets  in  society ;  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall 
feel  a  constant  desire  to  impress  it  upon  Mr.  Frederick 
Doane's  mind  that  I  am  a  country-woman,  and  understand 
farming,  and  all  kinds  of  housework." 

"  I  should  die  of  mortification  if  you  did,"  said  Fanny ; 
"  but  I  don't  believe  you  will  have  the  desire,  when  you  have 
seen  him  and  other  members  of  the  family.  There  is 
Walter's  father,  who  has  been  out  of  business  for  years  ;  you 
will  see  how  nicely  he  lives.  Then,  there  is  his  uncle,  Fred's 
father,  with  whom  Walter  studied  medicine ;  he  has  been  a 
consulting  physician  for  years,  and  lives  elegantly.  Fred 
si  ays  at  home  with  his  father  and  mother  winters,  and  travels 
summers — he  joins  us  this  summer ;  and  there  was  another 
uncle  still,  a  bachelor,  who  was  very  rich  ;  he  died  a  year  or 
so  ago,  leaving  his  fortune  to  Walter." 

"  Oh !  "  said  Margaret,  eagerly,  "  then  Walter  has  more 
than  his  profession  to  depend  upon  ?  " 


196  MARGARET  I 

"  Why,  yes,  indeed ;  did  you  not  know  that  ?  Dr, 
Somers  told  us  he  was  rich." 

"  I  know ;  but  I  thought  he  had  a  large  practice." 

"  So  he  has,"  answered  Fanny,  "  and  the  fortune  besides. 
Why,  dear  me !  he  never  could  support  such  an  establishment 
as  this  by  his  practice,  however  good." 

Margaret  felt  relieved,  and  Fanny  went  on  : 

"  The  house  was  furnished  very  much  as  you  see  when  I 
came.  I  think  it  does  Walter  credit,  though  I  have  added  some 
things,  and  Cousin  Fred  gave  Walter  the  benefit  of  his  taste." 

"  I  should  not  have  thanked  him  for  that,"  Margaret  re 
marked. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Fanny  in  surprise.  "  Don't  you  like 
the  house  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  I  should  think  you  would  have  preferred  your 
husband's  unassisted  taste." 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  "  laughed  Fanny ;  "  I  don't  pretend  to 
any  romance  or  sentiment  of  that  kind.  If  Cousin  Fred's 
suggestions  improved  the  appearance  of  my  house,  I  am  sure 
I  thank  him  for  it ;  and  really,  his  taste  is  excellent  in  every 
thing — he  has  travelled  and  seen  so  much.  Is  it  not  a  piece 
of  marvellous  good  fortune,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  that 
I  should  have  been  lifted  out  of  a  little  brown  farmhouse  in 
a  desert  wild,  into  such  a  home  as  this  ?  People  do  get  their 
hearts'  desire,  sometimes." 

"  What  does  Walter  think  of  your  making  light  of  senti 
ment  and  romance  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"I  don't  suppose  he  thinks  much  about  it,"  answered 
Fanny,  carelessly ;  "  but  unless  you  wish  to  make  Cousin 
Fred  caustic  and  cynical  to  the  last  degree,  do  not  mention 
those  words  to  him.  He  despises  them." 

"  I  should  imagine  as  much,"  answered  Margaret. 

"  You  are  making  up  your  mind  not  to  like  him,  I  see," 
said  Fanny ;  "  but  you  cannot  help  it,  and  I  advise  you  to 
guard  your  heart ;  he  is  famous  for  his  irresistible  fascina 
tions,  and  has  never  been  in  love,  he  says,  and  never  expects 
to  be." 


A  STOKY   OF   LIFE  IN  A  PEAIEIE    HOME.  197 

Margaret  made  no  reply,  and  just  then  Mr.  Doane  waa 
admitted.  Fanny  received  him  cordially,  and  introduced  him 
to  Margaret.  She  bowed,  and  then  turned  to  Dr.  Doane, 
who  entered  the  room  after  his  cousin,  and  whom  she  had 
not  seen  since  breakfast. 

"  I  need  not  ask  after  my  sister's  health,"  he  said,  looking 
smilingly  down  into  her  face,  flushed  with  the  excitement  of 
her  talk  with  Fanny,  and  brightened  by  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
him. 

"  How  are  you,  Fred  ?  And  how  has  my  wife  been  to 
day  ?  "  he  asked,  taking  Fanny's  hands.  "  Has  she  missed 
me  as  much  as  she  ought  ?  "  and  the  smile  with  which  she 
answered  him  seemed  perfectly  satisfactory. 

"  You  must  take  a  drive  immediately  after  dinner,"  Dr. 
Doane  said  ;  "  it  will  be  the  most  refreshing  thing  possible ; 
there  is  a  lovely  breeze  now." 

"  Are  you  not  going  with  us  ?  "  asked  Fanny. 

"  No,  dear,  I  cannot.  I  am  sorry  to  say,  I  have  to  take  a 
lonely  ride  to  see  a  patient  two  or  three  miles  out  of  town. 
I  wonder  if  you  would  like  to  go  with  me,  instead  of  in  the 
carriage  ?  "  he  added,  his  eyes  seeking  Fanny's  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  Walter,"  she  said,  "  don't  ask  me !  You  know  what 
a  horror  I  have  of  going  among  sick  people." 

"  You  need  not  go  in,'*  he  said,  loth  to  give  up  the  pleas 
ant  idea  of  having  her  ride  with  him. 

"  I  should  imagine  all  sorts  of  dreadful  things  while  I 
waited  for  you,"  she  said ;  "  and,  besides,  Margaret  and 
Cousin  Fred  need  me  to  chaperone  them." 

Margaret  saw  the  disappointed  look  with  which  Dr. 
Doane  turned  towards  the  dining-room,  and  felt  very  sorry 
for  .him,  and  vexed  with  Fanny. 

"  Are  not  the  children  going  to  dine  with  us,  Fanny  ?  " 
the  doctor  asked,  as  they  sat  down  to  the  table. 

"  Not  to-day ;  they  had  an  early  dinner,  and  went  out 
with  Mademoiselle." 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that,"  returned  her  husband  ;  "  I  want  to 
see  the  little  fellows.  However,  we  will  have  a  visit  from 


198  MARGARET : 

them  in  the  evening.  Leave  word  with  Scylla  when  you  go 
out,  Fanny ;  will  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Fanny  answered,  "  though  I  do  not  know  what 
Mademoiselle  will  say." 

"  It  would  never  do  to  incur  the  displeasure  of  the  French 
dragon,"  said  Mr.  Doane. 

Fanny  shook  her  head  reprovingly.  "  You  must  not  call 
poor  Mademoiselle  bad  names,  Fred.  She  only  complains 
that  the  boys  are  allowed  to  speak  English  so  much  that  it 
interferes  with  their  French.  But  of  course,  when  Walter 
wishes  it,  her  judgment  must  be  set  aside." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  her  husband  responded. 

When  dinner  was  over,  Dr.  Doane  hurried  the  ladies 
away  to  prepare  for  their  drive,  saying  that  they  must  be 
back  early,  or  he  and  the  boys  would  be  disconsolate. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  "  I  wonder  if  they  have  come 
home.  If  they  have,  I  will  take  Georgie  with  me." 

"  Indeed,  you  must  not,  Walter,"  exclaimed  Fanny, 
quickly ;  then  meeting  Mr.  Doane's  eyes,  she  added,  "  Jack 
would  be  so  grieved  to  be  left  behind !  If  you  could  take 
them  both,  it  would  be  another  thing."  And  she  followed 
Margaret  up-stairs. 

As  they  descended  the  steps  to  the  carriage,  a  lady  in 
widow's  dress  passed,  leading  a  beautiful  little  girl.  The 
lady  bowed,  and  smilingly  checked  the  child,  who  exclaimed, 
"  O  mamma,  there's  Mr.  Doane !  "  and  would  have  sprung 
towards  him. 

"  Why,  Margaret,"  said  Fanny,  when  they  were  seated  in 
the  carriage,  "  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  look  like  a  ghost." 

"  Do  I  ?  "  returned  Margaret. 

"You  certainly  did,  for  a  moment.  Fred,  who  was  the 
lady  to  whom  you  bowed  just  now  ?  Her  face  struck  me  as 
being  familiar,  and  yet  I  xlo  not  know  that  I  ever  saw  it 
before." 

"  It  was  Mrs.  Blake,"  he  replied ;  "  and  the  little  lady 
who  showed  such  emotion  at  seeing  me  was  Miss  Clara 
Blake,  one  of  my  sweethearts." 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   PEAIEIE    HOME.  199 

"  And  who  is  Mrs.  Blake,  and  where  does  she  live  ? " 
questioned  Fanny. 

"  She  lives  in street.  Her  husband  died  last  winter, 

and  she  lives  in  the  greatest  seclusion,  which  accounts  for 
your  not  having  met  her." 

"  Was  Mr.  Blake  rich  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  he  left  her  a  large  fortune,  and  she  had  one 
when  he  married  her.  And  yet  she  mourns  !  I  think  theirs 
must  have  been  the  traditional  match  made  in  heaven,  for  the 
usual  tokens  of  discord  and  incompatibility  were  wholly 
lacking." 

"  Was  Mrs.  Blake  a  St.  Louis  lady  ?  " 

"  She  was  from  New  York ;  you  may  have  heard  of  her 
— she  was  a  Miss  Clara  Russell." 

Mr.  Doane's  eyes  were  iipon  her,  and  Fanny  managed  to 
conceal  any  emotion  she  may  have  experienced,  and  to  answer 
with  tolerable  composure,  "I — I  believe  I  have  heard  the 
name." 

"  I  met  Mrs.  Blake's  brother  last  winter,"  continued  Mr. 
Doane,  "  and  judged  him  a  brother  worthy  of  such  a  sister. 
It  was  none  of  my  business,  but  I  did  take  it  upon  my 
self  to  wonder  why  she  did  not  return  with  him  to  New 
York,  as  he  is  unmarried,  and  living  alone  in  the  old  family 
home." 

By  this  time  Fanny  had  fully  recovered  her  self-posses 
sion,  and  when  a  covert  glance  at  Margaret  had  assured  her 
that  she  too  was — at  least  outwardly — calm,  she  carelessly 
changed  the  subject,  and  chatted  about  ordinary  things  with 
Mr.  Doane,  who  the  while  bestowed  brief,  inspecting  glances 
upon  Margaret's  thoughtful  face,  of  which  she  was  quite 
unconscious. 

Mr.  Doane  had  been  attracted  by  his  cousin's  graceful, 
fascinating  wife,  when  they  first  met,  and  his  chagrin  at  find 
ing,  after  a  time,  that  his  boasted  penetration  had  been  for 
once  at  fault,  made  him  especially  wary  of  the  charm  her 
sister's  face  and  manner  possessed  for  him.  He  watched 
with  actual  impatience  for  some  chance  lifting  of  "  the  veil," 


200  MABGABET : 

• 

as  he  mentally  styled  the  air  of  true  womanliness  which  per 
vaded  all  she  said  and  did. 

At  length  he  suggested  that  they  should  turn  back,  or  the 
doctor  might  be  at  home  before  them. 

"  Oh,  yes,  let  us  go  back,"  said  Margaret,  eagerly.  "  I 
have  hardly  seen  the  children  since  I  came." 

"  Are  children  more  interesting  to  you  than  grown 
people,  Miss  Crosby  ? "  asked  Mr.  Doane,  with  a  feeling 
much  akin  to  pique. 

"  Some  are — Georgie  and  Jack,  for  instance — than  some 
grown  people." 

"  Do  you  mean,  than  Cousin  Fred  and  me  ? "  asked 
Fanny,  "  because  it  sounded  very  much  like  it." 

Margaret  shook  her  head  in  smiling  denial. 

"  You  do  not  think  it  worth  while  to  prove  to  the  con 
trary,  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Doane,  as  he  saw  the  quiet,  far-away 
expression  coming  back  to  her  eyes. 

"  How  can  I  prove  it  ? — only  tell  me  ! " 

"  By  treating  us  with  some  attention,"  he  answered ;  "  by 
bestowing  your  regards  upon  us,  instead  of  the  earth  and 
sky,  and  giving  us  the  benefit  of  a  few  of  your  thoughts." 

The  injured  tone  with  which  this  was  said  amused  Mar 
garet,  and,  in  a  sudden  change  of  mood  which  took  her 
and  her  companions  by  surprise,  she  assumed  the  air  of 
an  assiduous,  anxious  hostess,  introducing  one  topic  after 
another,  in  a  way  that  made  Mr.  Doane,  at  least,  sorry  when 
the  drive  came  to  an  end. 

"  Do  you  consider  that  you  have  done  your  duty  by  us, 
so  that  you  will  feel  at  liberty  to  indulge  in  another  fit  of 
abstraction  this  evening  ?  "  he  asked,  pausing  with  his  hand 
on  the  carriage-door. 

"  I  do  consider  that  I  have  been  very  good  to  you,  and 
shall  devote  myself  to  the  children  for  the  rest  of  the  even 
ing,"  she  replied,  laughingly. 

"  Will  you  not  count  me  among  them  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Fred!  have  d)ne  with  your  nonsense,  and  help  us 
out  I "  exclaimed  Fanny. 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  201 

Margaret  was  already  on  the  sidewalk,  and  Fanny  was 
just  stepping  from  the  carriage,  when  their  ears  were  greet 
ed  by  unwonted  sounds  coming  from  the  garden,  which 
opened  upon  the  street. 

"  G'long,  g'long  off !  What  for  yer  come  into  dis  yer' 
for  ?  De  massy  !  G'long  off  wid  yer  poor  white  trash." 

A  gruff  voice  was  heard  to  reply,  and  then  two  misera 
ble-looking  objects  came  out,  grumbling  and  complaining. 
The  cook's  black  face  was  seen  for  a  moment,  and  the  gate 
was  shut  and  locked. 

The  man  and  woman  stood  still  for  a  moment,  and  then 
the  man  drew  near  to  Mr.  Doane,  causing  Fanny,  who  had 
waited  to  see  the  cause  of  the  disturbance,  to  utter  a  little 
scream  and  run  into  the  house. 

"  What  do  you  want,  fellow  ? "  asked  Mr.  Doane,  who 
felt  as  if  even  to  look  at  such  a  ragged,  unwashed,  unkempt 
object,  was  contamination. 

"So'thin'  ter  git  lodgin'  an'  vittles,"  was  the  surly  reply. 

"Take  that,  then,  and  be  off,"  said  Mr.  Doane,  throwing 
some  money  on  the  ground  at  a  little  distance.  "Miss 
Crosby,"  he  cried  in  amazement  as  he  turned  and  beheld 
Margaret  standing  beside  the  woman,  "  what  are  you  do- 
ing?" 

She  took  no  notice,  but  continued  to  talk  to  the  woman, 
while  the  man  tucked  the  money  away  among  his  rags ;  and 
Mr.  Doane  exclaimed,  "  In  heaven's,  name,  Miss  Crosby, 
what  can  you  have  to  say  to  that?  " 

"  Leave  me  a  moment,"  she  said,  hastily,  as  the  woman 
made  a  movement  to  follow  her  companion,  who  had  gone  a 
few  steps  away,  and  was  calling  her  sharply  to  come  on. 
Margaret  succeeded  in  detaining  her,  and  Mr.  Doane  stood 
by. 

"You  are  very  poor,"  said  Margaret,  earnestly;  "if 
you  will  bring  her  back  to  me  I  will  give  you  money,  and 
do  all  I  can  to  help  you." 

"  I  tell  you  I  dunno  whar  she  are.    I  hain't  never  seen — " 

"  Shet  up  yer  head,  can't  yer ! "  exclaimed  the  man,  \vho 
9* 


202  MAEGAEET  I 

had  come  back  to  listen.  "  Be  ye  her  as  tuck  the  nigger  ga] 
off,  an'  didn't  never  pay  a  cent  fer't  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  one  who  took  Chloe  from  you,"  answered 
Margaret,  "  and  now  if  you  will  let  me  have  her  again,  I  will 
pay  you  well." 

"  She's  wuth  a  heap,  ef  she  be  a  nigger,"  said  the  man, 
"  an'  it'll  hef  ter  be  a  mighty  smart  chance  as'll  git  me  to 
let  yer  hev'  'er." 

"  I  am  sure  I  can  satisfy  you,"  said  Margaret,  eagerly ; 
"  only  bring  her  to  me." 

"  How  much  will  yer  give  me  down  now  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  Miss  Crosby,"  said  Mr.  Doane,  "  of  course  this  is  all  a 
mystery  to  me,  but  let  me  suggest  that  if  you  wish  to  re 
cover  any  thing  from  these  people,  you  had  better  allow  me 
to  deal  with  them,"  and  he  added  something  in  a  low  tone,  in 
which  the  word  "arrested"  may  have  caught  the  man's  ear, 
for  he  turned  shortly  away,  pulling  the  woman  after  him. 

"  Don't  go,"  cried  Margaret,  "  without  telling  me  some 
thing  about  Chloe,  or  promising  to  come  again." 

"  Here,  fellow,  why  don't  you  answer  the  lady  ? "  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Doane,  sternly,  as  they  kept  on  without  a  word. 

"  I'll  come  agin  ter-morry,"  answered  the  man's  harsh 
voice,  "  an'  fotch  her  along,"  and  the  ragged  pair  disappeared 
down  the  street. 

"  Pray,  satisfy  my  curiosity  without  delay,  Miss  Crosby," 
said  Mr.  Doane,  as  they  ascended  the  steps.  "  Who  are  those 
people,  and  what  have  they  that  you  are  so  anxious  to  re 
gain  ?  " 

"  They  are  Simon  and  Nancy  Stubbs,"  Margaret  replied, 
"  and  it  is  a  little  negro-girl  that  I  wish  to  get  possession  of." 

"  I  thought  I  heard  something  to  that  effect  from  the  po 
lite  lips  of  Mr.  Stubbs,"  replied  Mr.  Doane,  "  but  supposed 
I  must  have  misunderstood,  and  that  it  was  a  pet  spaniel,  or 
bird,  with  which  they  had  absconded.  The  mystery  deep 
ens!  Are  there  not  plenty  of  negi*o-ehildren  in  St.  Louis? 
Why  should  you  insist  upon  poor  Mr.  Stubbs  giving  up 
what  he  seems  to  prize  so  highly  ?  " 


A  STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A  PRAIRIE   HOME.  203 

"  He  gave  her  up  to  me  first,"  answered  Margaret,  "  and 
then  took  her  back." 

"  Oh,  then  it  is  a  desire  to  have  your  rights — to  get  the 
better  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stubbs,  and  not  that  one  negro-girl 
is  more  to  you  than  another  ?  " 

"  I  prefer  Chloe,"  replied  Margaret,  as  they  entered  the 
library,  where  Dr.  Doane  sat  with  the  boys  in  the  midst  of 
a  very  interesting  story  ;  but  all  three  started  up  when  they 
saw  Margaret. 

"  Where  is  Fanny?"  Dr.  Doane  asked,  after  a  little. 

"  Have  you  not  seen  her  ?  "  asked  Margaret.  "  She  came 
in  some  ten  minutes  ago." 

"  She  did ! "  exclaimed  the  doctor ;  "  and  where  have  you 
been  all  this  time  ?  We  have  been  expecting  you  for  the 
last  half-hour,  but  I  had  not  heard  the  carriage." 

Mr.  Doane  proceeded  to  give  an  exaggerated  and  highly- 
colored  description  of  their  encounter  with  Simon  and  Nancy, 
and  when  he  stated  as  a  climactic  fact  that  the  important 
object  in  question  was  a  little  negro-girl,  George  and  Jack 
cried, "  Oh,  it's  Chloe,  it's  Chloe  !  "  and  Dr.  Doane  exclaimed, 
"Is  it  possible  that  those  creatures  have  turned  up  in  St. 
Louis,  and  that  you  really  have  fallen  in  with  them  ?  Well, 
wonders  will  never  cease." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  know  all  about  them,  and  the  black  child 
upon  whom  they  set  such  a  value,"  said  Mr.  Doane. 

"  Yes,  I  heard  the  story  from  the  children,  and  then  from 
Dr.  Somers,  and  a  very  interesting  one  it  is." 

"I  shall  get  the  children  to  tell  it  to  me," said  Mr.  Doane. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we'll  tell  it  to  you,"  cried  George  ;  and  while 
the  doctor  went  in  search  of  Fanny — whom  he  found  in  a 
state  which  he  kindly  called  weariness — Mr.  Doane  heard 
how  Chloe  came  to  live  at  the  farm ;  and  with  the  prospect 
of  seeing  her  on  the  coming  day,  Margaret  could  make 
merry  with  the  boys  and  Mr.  Doane  over  her  "  tricks  and 
her  manners." 

"You  seem  very  much  entertained,"  Fanny  remarked/ 
as  she  and  Dr.  Doane  came  into  the  room. 


204:  MAEGAEEf  I 

"  We  are  talking  about  Chloe,  Fanny,"  said  Margaret 
"  did  you  know  that  I  have  had  an  interview  with  Simon 
and  Nancy  Stubbs,  and  have  the  promise  of  seeing  Chloe  to 
morrow  ?  " 

"  Walter  mentioned  it,"  replied  Fanny ;  "I  hope  nobody 
saw  you  talking  with  them  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Mr.  Doane.  "  Can  you  imagine  a  greater 
shock  to  my  sensibilities  ?  " 

"Margaret  was  always  queer  about  those  things,"  said 
Fanny.  "  I  do  not  think  she  would  shrink  from  contact  with 
any  degree  of  poverty,  and  rags,  if  she  had  an  idea  to  carry 
out." 

"I  think  we  have  seen  that  exemplified  to-night,"  Mr. 
Doane  remarked.  "  Miss  Crosby,  I  dislike  to  cast  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt  over  your  sanguine  expectations,  but  the  number 
of  rags  and  tags  belonging  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stubbs,  and  their 
otherwise  unprepossessing  appearance,  suggest  the  possibility 
to  my  mind  that  the.y  may  conclude  not  to  jeopard  their 
own  liberty  for  the  sake  of  giving  Chloe  hers." 

"  I  do  not  think  they  would  siispect  me  of  having  any 
designs  upon  their  liberty,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  you  remember  the  effect  my  mild  in 
terference  had  upon  them,  and  I  may  come  to  assume  the 
shape  of  an  arm  of  the  law  to  their  imaginations.  However, 
I  only  wished  to  warn  you  against  counting  too  surely  upon 
beholding  jour  protege  to-morrow." 

"  I  had  thought  of  the  same  possibility,  Margaret,"  said 
the  doctor. 

"  Tour  infatuation  about  that  child  is  something  I  never 
could  understand,"  said  Fanny.  "  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know 
what  you  will  do  with  her,  if  you  get  her  back." 

"  Take  her  with  me  to  the  farm,  of  course,"  answered 
Margaret. 

"That  is  an  interdicted  remark,  you  know  very  well, 
Margaret,"  said  Dr.  Doane.  "  You  may  take  her  with  you 
on  yonr  summer  travels,  if  you  think  best.  After  you  have 
seen  her,  you  can  judge  of  her  qualifications  as  lady's  maid." 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN  A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  205 

"Is  Aunt  Margaret  going  away  ?"  asked  George,  whose 
quick  ear  caught  the  dreadful  suggestion  in  the  midst  of  an 
animated  conversation  with  Jack  across  his  aunt's  lap.  "  Is 
she  going,  too,  when  you  and  mother  go  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  about  that  now,  my  boy,"  said  Dr.  Doane. 

"  Well,  I  ain't  going  to  stay  with  that  old  Mademoi 
selle,"  muttered  George,  adding,  in  spite  of  Margaret's  check 
ing  hand,  "if  they  all  go  off  and  leave  us  with  her,  I'll  just 
up  and  run  away,  and  so." 

"  What  do  you  say  to  having  Aunt  Margaret  sing  ?  "  said 
Dr.  Doane.  "  I  have  an  idea  that  it  would  be  worth  hearing." 

"  Do  you  sing  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Doane. 

"  Yes^  she  does,"  cried  George ;  "  she  used  to  sing  to 
Jack  and  me,  nights." 

"  What  does  she  sing,  Georgie  ?  "  Mr.  Doane  asked. 

"  When  we'd  be  going  to  bed  she'd  sing,  *  Softly  now 
the  light  of  day.'  Sing  it  now,  won't  you,  Aunty  ?  " 

"  That  is  our  good-night  hymn,  dear.  Nobody  would 
care  to  hear  it  but  you  and  Jackie." 

"  Well,  then,  sing  'Come  to  the  sunset  tree,'"  he  persisted. 

"  George,"  said  his  mother,  "your  aunt  cannot  sing  your 
hymns  now.  Let  somebody  else  have  a  chance  to  propose 
something." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  have  to  make  my  own  selection,  my 
list  is  such  an  old-time  one,"  said  Margaret,  as  she  seated 
herself  at  the  piano. 

"  Well,  Margaret,"  Dr.  Doane  said,  as  she  finished  her 
song,  "  I  consider  that  you  have  defrauded  us ;  why  have 
you  not  sung  before  ?  " 

"'Nobody  axed  me,' sir,"  she  replied,  "  and  you  could 
not  think  I  would  be  so  bold  as  to  propose  it  myself." 

"  Well,  we  must  make  up  for  lost  time  now,"  returned 
the  doctor ;  "  let  us  have  something  else  right  away." 

So  Margaret  sang  again,  and  as  she  ceased,  Mademoiselle 
appeared  at  the  door,  smiling  and  beckoning  to  the  children. 

"  Pardon,"  she  said,  "  but  I  have  come  to  look  for  my 
little  boys.  I  could  not  tell  what  had  become  of  them." 


206  MARGARET  I 

"  Go  with  Mademoiselle  at  once,"  Fanny  said.  "  It  19 
much  too  late  for  them  to  be  up,  but  of  course  these  things 
are  beyond  my  control  now." 

Jack  started,  though  reluctantly  enough,  but  George 
stood  pulling  himself  back  and  forth  by  the  piano,  not  in  the 
least  heeding  Margaret's  looks  of  gentle  reproof. 

"  Why  don't  you  go,  George  ?  "  asked  his  mother  impa 
tiently. 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  with  her,"  he  said,  crossly.  "  She's 
ugly  to  me ;  she  likes  Jack  better'n  me,  she  says  she  does, 
and  I  can't  be  good,  or  say  my  prayers  or  any  thing  when 
she's  there.  I  want  Aunt  Margaret  to  put  me  to  bed." 

"  Ah,  ah  !  mon  coeur  f  "  exclaimed  Mademoiselle  softly, 
casting  her  eyes  up  to  the  ceiling. 

Fanny  looked  angry  and  threw  herself  back  in  the  chair ; 
Margaret  sat  still  and  sad  by  the  piano ;  Mr.  Doane,  from  a 
dark  corner,  watched  them  all.  Dr.  Boane  went  to  George, 
and  laid  his  hand  gently  on  the  boy's  head. 

"Aunt  Margaret,"  he  said,  "I  think  if  you  were  to  sing 
your  good-night  hymn  now,  it  would  have  a  good  effect  upon 
this  little  boy,  and  he  might  be  able  to  say  his  prayers  when 
he  goes  up  with  Mademoiselle.  Come  here,  Jack,  and  Made 
moiselle  will  please  sit  down  for  a  few  minutes." 

Margaret  sang  the  hymn,  and  then  Georgie  came  to  kiss 
her  with  a  subdued  manner,  and  so  sorry  a  little  face,  that  it 
seemed  as  if  she  could  not  let  him  go  without  a  word  of  com 
fort.  Poor  little  Jack,  too — she  felt  that  his  easily  influenced, 
pliable  nature,  needed  her  care  even  more  than  George's, 
so  strong  and  sturdy,  though  he  had  fewer  troubles  to  be 
soothed  away. 

Nobody  seemed  inclined  to  talk  when  the  boys  were  gone, 
and  Mr.  Doane  soon  took  his  leave.  For  a  time  his  cousin's 
sober,  anxious  face  was  before  him,  as  he  thought  how  slow 
ly  but  surely  the  film  was  falling  from  his  eyes,  and  his  illu 
sion  with  regard  to  Fanny  was  being  dispelled.  But  hope 
for  all  came  with  the  thought  of  Margaret.  lie  had  forgot 
ten  to  doubt  the  reality  of  her  loveliness,  and  as  he  reviewed 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   FEAIRIE   HOME.  207 

the  past  few  hours,  he  smiled  to  see  how  fully  he  had  accept 
ed  this  fair  stranger  as  his  ideal  of  perfect  womanhood,  yet 
he  felt  no  inclination  to  cavil  at  his  hasty  judgment.  "  She 
cannot  be  very  young,"  he  thought,  "  but  she  will  never  grow 
old.  She  drinks  of  the  fountain  of  youth,  and  at  seventy 
she  will  be  as  young  in  spirit  as  she  is  now,  no  matter  what 
trials  she  meets  by  the  way.  I  do  not  know  the  secret,  but 
I  am  sure  of  the  fact.  Her  sweet  eyes  will  never  lose  their 
light ;  they  will  always  be  as  clear  and  true  as  they  are  now. 
What  a  voice  she  has  !  I  never  heard  one  that  touched  me 
so.  Her  singing  of  that  hymn  was  like  the  soft  breathing 
of  a  tender  benediction.  I  wish  she  would  sing  it  for  me  ; 
I  am  sure  it  would  '  bring  sweet  dreams  down  from  the  bliss 
ful  skies.'  She  has  the  naturalness  of  a  shepherdess,  the 
grace  and  ease  of  a  woman  of  the  world,  a  warm,  true  heart, 
a  bright  intellect — heigh-ho !  I  wish  her  sister  were  like 
her — no,  not  like  her,  for  there  could  not  be  two  such  women 
in  one  century,  but  I  wish  she  were  worthy  of  Walter,  poor 
fellow  !  I  wonder  what  Miss  Crosby's  heart-history  has 
been.  Of  course,  she  has  loved.  I  wonder  if  she  loves  still." 
In  the  meantime  Margaret,  glad  of  the  silence  and  soli 
tude  of  her  own  room,  had  plenty  of  food  for -thought  in  the 
events  of  the  evening.  Her  life's  lesson  must  have  been 
poorly  learned,  she  said  to  herself,  if  she  needed  these  con 
stant  reminders  of  a  happy  past ;  and  that  she  did  need  them 
was  proved  by  the  shock  they  always  gave  her  foolish  heart. 
She  would  have  known  that  the  face  she  had  seen  that  day 
was  akin  to  Robert  Russell — it  was  so  like  his — even  if  she 
had  not  recognized  Mrs.  Blake,  as  one  to  whose  heart  she  had 
been  taken  as  a  sister,  long  years  ago,  because  she  loved  a 
brother.  Must  they  meet  again  ?  and  would  she  be  regarded 
bitterly,  as  having  brought  a  shadow  over  that  brother's  life, 
or  one  whom  he  had  put  out  of  his  heart  as  unworthy  ?  As 
to  Chloe,  she  reminded  herself  that  there  was  great  reason 
to  doubt  whether  she  should  see  her  and  be  able  to  rescue 
her  once  more,  but  still  she  felt  hopeful 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

At  first  it  seemed  a  little  speck, 

And  then  it  seemed  a  mist ; 
It  moved,  and  moved,  and  took  at  last 

A  certain  shape,  I  wist — 
A  speck,  a  mist,  a  shape,  I  wist ! 
And  still  it  neared  and  neared.  COLERIDGE. 

A  WEEK  passed,  during  which  nothing  was  seen  or  heard 
of  Simon  and  Nancy,  and  Margaret  sorrowfully  gave  up  her 
hope  of  rescuing  Chloe  from  the  terrible  life  she  supposed 
her  to  be  leading. 

In  the  meantime  the  weather  had  become  so  oppressi-re, 
and  Fanny  seemed  so  languid  and  drooping,  that  an  early 
day  had  been  fixed  for  their  departure  from  St.  Louis.  Dr. 
Doane's  plan  had  been  that  they  should  all  travel  together 
for  a  time,  and  then  settle  down  somewhere,  to  enjoy  coun 
try  air  and  scenes.  Fanny  maintained  that  nothing  could  be 
worse  for  children  than  travelling ;  it  was  impossible  to  keep 
them  under  any  sort  of  discipline,  and  the  wisest  plan,  to  her 
mind,  was  for  Mademoiselle 'to  take  the  boys  to  some  quiet 
place,  where  they  could  have  daily  lessons,  and  not  lose  all 
they  had  gained  under  her  careful  tuition. 

This  proposal  made  the  doctor  look  very  sober,  and  the 
dread  of  having  it  carried  out  inclined  him  to  yield  readily 
to  Margaret's  plan  of  taking  the  children  to  the  farm.  All 
her  skill  and  tact  did  not  prevent  Fanny's  wearing  an  injured 
and  severely  reserved  air  for  a  day  or  two  after  the  question 
was  decided,  though  in  her  secret  heart  she  felt  that  the 
arrangement  was  a  very  satisfactory  one,  as  she  candidly 
owned  to  herself  that  she  should  not  in  the  least  relish 
having  any  body  with  her  who  would  divide  the  devotions 
of  her  two  cavaliers,  as  Margaret  would  surely  do.  Her 
only  anxiety  was  removed  when  Mademoiselle  promised 
faithfully  to  return  to  her  in  the  autumn.  She  asserted  that 


A   8TOEY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PKAIEIE   HOME.  209 

nothing  could  compensate  for  the  loss  of  such  an  accom 
plished  governess. 

Mademoiselle's  sensitive  heart  had  been  so  hurt  by 
George's  tirade  against  her  in  the  drawing-room,  that  she 
went  to  Fanny  the  next  morning,  and  made  known  with 
sorrowful  dignity  that  she  must  leave  her  beloved  Madame ; 
she  could  not  subject  herself  to  such  humiliation ;  she  should 
never  be  able  to  look  the  "  docteur  "  and  "  Monsieur  "  in  the 
face  again ;  she  only  hoped  that  Madame  would  find  some 
one  to  fill  her  place  who  would  be  as  devoted  as  she  had 
been.  Fanny  was  in  despair ;  but  she  soon  found  that 
Mademoiselle  was  not  implacable,  and  when  George  had 
been  brought  to  the  point  of  asking  her  pardon,  her  wound 
ed  heart  was  healed,  and  things  went  on  much  as  usual; 
though  George  confided  to  Margaret  that  he  was  scolded  and 
shut  up  in  dark  closets  more  than  ever,  and  had  altogether 
a  dreadful  time.  But  Margaret  did  not  encourage  him  to 
talk  of  his  troubles,  as  she  should  so  soon  have  him  and  Jack 
rightfully  and  peaceably  to  herself. 

Not  a  day  passed  that  did  not  bring  Mr.  Doane  with 
books  or  flowers,  or  to  take  the  ladies  for  a  drive  or  to  see 
some  fine  picture.  This  generally  resulted  in  his  spending 
the  evening,  and  the  evenings  were  always  varied  with 
music.  Margaret  discovered  that  Mr.  Doane  could  play  "  a 
few  things,"  and  those  few  things  happened  to  be  passages 
from  symphonies  and  sonatas  that  she  used  to  delight  in,  but 
had  not  heard  for  years.  He  played  the  flute,  too,  and,  with 
her  accompaniment  on  the  piano,  it  proved  the  source  of 
exquisite  pleasure.  Dr.  Doane  was  exceedingly  fond  of 
music,  and  he  enjoyed  Margaret's  and  his  cousin's  perform 
ances  to  the  full,  whenever  he  was  at  home,  sitting  beside 
Fanny,  who  generally  reclined  upon  a  sofa. 

On  Sunday,  late  in  the  afternoon,  Mr.  Doane  came,  find 
ing  Margaret  and  George  in  the  library. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  sighed  George,  "  I  didn't  want  any  body  to 
come  in  here.  I  wish  we'd  have  locked  the  door." 

"  Why,  Georgie  !  "  exclaimed  Margaret ;  "  what  a  very 
rude  speech !  " 


210  MAKGAEET : 

"  Well,  I  know  you'll  stop  reading,  and  Mademoiselle 
will  come  home  before  Mr.  Doane  goes  away,  and  I  sha'n't 
have  a  good  time  after  all.  I  do  wish  he  hadn't  come." 

Mr.  Doane  laughed.  "  Poor  Georgie !  it  is  a  hard  case, 
isn't  it?  But  you  won't  mind  my  sitting  here,  if  I  don't 
speak  or  move,  and  if  your  aunt  goes  on  reading  as  if  I  were 
really  locked  out  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  she  won't,  I  know.  Will  you,  Aunt  Mar 
garet  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"She  will,  Georgie,"  said  Mr.  Doane,  seating  himself 
opposite  Margaret.  "  She  wouldn't  like  to  make  me  go 
away,  and  I  shall,  unless  she  reads." 

"  I  think  I  shall  be  obliged  to,"  said  Margaret,  "  for  I  do 
not  like  to  disappoint  Georgie,  and  I  do  not  care  to  send  you 
away,  either.  Mademoiselle  invited  Jack  to  go  somewhere 
with  her,  leaving  George  to  his  own  devices.  So  we  were 
having  one  of  our  old-fashioned  Sunday  times." 

"  Let  me  have  the  benefit  of  one  such.  It  will  make  up 
for  my  not  having  been  to  church  to-day.  You  bave  not 
been,  either,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  ;  I  went  this  morning." 

"  What !  in  spite  of  the  heat  ?  I  am  amazed  at  such  a 
display  of  energy." 

"  I  have  so  few  opportunities  to  go  to  church,"  said  Mar 
garet,  "  that  I  cannot  afford  to  lose  any  on  account  of  the 
weather." 

"  Is  it  as  a  pleasure,  or  a  duty,  that  you  go  when  the 
opportunity  offers  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Doane. 

"  There !  I  just  knew  you'd  talk,  and  spoil  it  all,"  ex 
claimed  George,  almost  crying. 

"  Read,  Miss  Crosby ;  I  won't  utter  another  syllable ; " 
and  Mr.  Doane  shut  his  lips  tightly  together,  folded  his 
hands,  and  sat  back  in  his  chair  with  an  air  of  desperate 
determination,  while  Margaret  opened  her  book. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  read  '  Pilgrim's  Progress  '  ?  "  she 
said. 

Mr.  Doane  nodded,  and  she  began  to  read  where  she  had 


A  STORY  OF   LIFE  IN  A  PEAIEIE  HOME.  211 

stopped  when  he  came  in.  He  listened  without  noting  the 
words  for  a  time,  thinking  how  pleasant  it  was  to  sit  in  that 
cool,  shaded  room,  and  hear  that  sweet,  clear  voice,  and  have 
such  a  picture  before  him ;  for  it  was  a  picture  well  worth 
regarding — Margaret  in  her  white  dress,  with  tea-rosebuds 
and  heliotrope  in  her  dark  hair  and  at  her  throat,  her  face 
reflecting  the  peace  and  quiet  of  her  heart,  with  George 
beside  her,  his  face  full  of  eager  interest  in  the  wonderful 
book  she  read. 

But  George's  questions  about  the  different  scenes  de 
scribed,  and  Margaret's  explanations,  soon  arrested  his  atten 
tion,  and  he  listened  as  eagerly  as  George  himself. 

"  Don't  you  think  it's  nice  ?  "  asked  George,  turning  to 
him  suddenly,  as  some  little  movement  reminded  him  of  his 
presence.  ' 

"  Very  nice,  indeed,  Georgie,"  answered  Mr.  Doane. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  all  means  ?  "  George  asked. 

"  I  thought  I  did,  Georgie ;  but  I  am  beginning  to  doubt 
it," 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  ask  Aunt  Margaret  things  that  you 
don't  know  ?  She  knows  'em  all." 

"I  have  been  thinking  that  I  should  like  to  ask  her 
things,  but  I  promised  you  I  would  not  talk." 

"  Oh,  I'd  let  you  ask  questions,  if  you  didn't  ask  too 
many.  But  don't  you  know  who  Christian  means  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  I  do.     Can't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"I  should  hope  so,"  replied  George,  disdainfully.  "It 
means  any  body  that  feels  that  they  are  very  bad  and  don't 
love  God — that's  living  in  the  City  of  Destruction.  And 
when  they  want  to  be  good,  and  think  they  will  be — that's 
running  away  from  the  City  of  Destruction.  And  the 
Slough  of  Despond  is  when  they  think  they  can't  be  good, 
and  then  somebody  that  is  good  comes  and  tells  them  to  try 
harder,  and  they  do.  Then,  by-and-by  they  get  to  the 
Wicket  Gate — that's  when  they  ask  Je.sus  to  forgive  their 
sins  ;  but  they  can't  be  real  happy  till  they  get  to  the  Cross. 
See !  there  it  is,  in  the  picture !  See  Christian's  burden — 


212  MAEGAKET : 

that's  his  sins — tumbling  off  and  rolling  away  down  into  the 
sepulchre.  He  knows  then  that  Jesus  has  forgiven  him,  and 
he  keeps  being  good  till  he  gets  to  the  Celestial  City — that's 
heaven.  Why !  don't  you  know  that  Aunt  Margaret's  a 
pilgrim  ?  and  ain't  you  one,  too  ?  " 

"I  am  very  far  from  being  such  a  pilgrim  as  that, 
Georgie,"  Mr.  Doane  replied. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  be  one  ?  You're  grown-up.  I'm 
going  to  be,  when  I'm  bigger.  I  wouldn't  not  be  one  then, 
for  the  whole  world." 

"  Does  your  Aunt  Margaret  think  you  are  too  little  to  be 
one  now  ?  " 

"  No,  she  don't ;  but  I  do,"  George  answered,  hanging 
his  head  an  instant.  "  Mebbe  I'll  get  to  be  one  this  summer ; 
but  I  can't  while  Mademoiselle  is  'round.  She  makes  me  so 
bad,  that  when  I  say  my  prayers  I  don't  want  Jesus  to  for 
give  me.  But,  Aunty,  do  people  like  Mr.  Doane  live  in  the 
City  of  Destruction  ?  He  don't  look  like  Pliable,  or  Obsti 
nate,  or  any  of  these,"  he  added,  examining  the  picture 
representing  Christian's  townspeople  talking  with  the  two 
"  turncoats." 

"  Can  you  not  find  any  body  that  looks  respectable  and 
well-behaved,  Georgie  ?  For  I  suppose  there  is  no  other 
place  for  me  in  your  creed,  as  long  as  I  do  not  wear  the 
pilgrim's  dress,  and  walk  in  that  very  strait  path." 

"  Aunt  Margaret  says  that  every  body  lives  in  the  City  of 
Destruction  that  isn't  a  Christian,"  said  George.  "  But  don't 
you  know,"  he  cried,  as  a  sudden  solution  of  the  difficulty 
occurred  to  him,  "  that  only  means  that  you  don't  love  our 
Saviour,  and  don't  try  to  obey  him  ?  It  doesn't  really  mean 
that  you  live  in  a  wicked  city,  and  wear  ragged  clothes." 

"  I  suppose  it  means  that  my  soul  is  in  rags,  and  that,  if  I 
were  to  present  myself  at  the  gate  of  the  Celestial  City,  I 
should  be  turned  away  as  a  beggar." 

"  Is  that  what  it  means,  Aunt  Margaret  ?  "  asked  George. 

Margaret  started  at  this  sudden  appeal  to  her.  She  felt 
that  Mr.  Doane  was  talking  to  her  more  than  to  George,  and 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  213 

knew  that  he  waited  for  her  reply  to  George's  question.  She 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said,  "  Shall  I  give  you  a  little 
outline  of  Georgie's  creed,  and  mine  ?  " 

"  Pray  do,"  he  replied. 

"  We  believe  that  we  all  have  broken  God's  law — or,  as 
Georgie  expresses  it,  live  in  the  City  of  Destruction — and 
could  never  escape  if  it  were  not  that  Jesus,  the  divine  Son 
of  God,  suffered  in  our  stead,  and  made  it  possible  for  God 
to  be  just,  and  yet  pardon  us  and  treat  us  as  if  we  had  not 
violated  his  law.  When  we  accept  His  sacrifice,  Jesus'  blood 
washes  away  our  guilt ;  we  love  Him  for  His  kindness,  and 
He  helps  us  to  keep  the  very  strait  and  narrow  path  that 
leads  to  the  Celestial  City." 

"That  seems  a  very  simple  and  logical  creed,  Miss 
Crosby,"  Mr.  Doane  said  ;  "  and  that  it  is  the  one  which  you 
accept  and  live  by,  is  sufficient  to  commend  its  beauty  and 
desirableness.  But — " 

"  Do  not  speak  of  the  '  buts '  now,  please,"  said  Mar 
garet,  gently,  laying  her  hand  on  that  of  George,  who,  lean 
ing  on  the  arm  of  her  chair,  was  listening,  though  only  half 
comprehending. 

Mr.  Doane  colored  a  little,  but  said,  with  a  smile,  "  I  shall 
only  defer  them,  then.  I  shall  lay  them  before  you  the  first 
opportunity  I  have." 

"  You've  talked  a  great  deal,  I  think,"  said  George,  dole 
fully. 

"  You  put  me  up  to  it,"  returned  Mr.  Doane,  laughing. 
"  If  you  will  be  quiet  now,  I  will,  and  we  will  have  a  little 
more  of  the  '  Pilgrim.'  " 

So  Margaret  read  till  Dr.  Doane  and  Fanny  came  down. 

"  Well,  Fred,"  the  doctor  exclaimed,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  in  such  good  hands.  You  have  not  been  allowed  to  talk 
your  French  philosophy  and  German  metaphysics  to  Mar 
garet,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  When  did  you  come,  Fred  ?  "  Fanny  asked,  looking  at 
the  cosy  group— for  Mr.  Doane  had  taken  his  seat  again  near 
Margaret — with  a  very  cloudy  face. 


214  M AEG ABET  : 

"  About  an  hour  ago,"  he  replied.  "  I  found  your  sister 
and  George  deep  in  the  adventures  of  the  renowned  '  Pil 
grim,'  and  George  allowed  me,  on  promise  of  silence,  to  sit 
here  and  listen ;  then  he  engaged  me  in  a  theological  discus 
sion,  so  that  we  have  had  quite  an  exciting  time." 

"  Have  you  really  been  reading  this  book  to  Fred  ?  " 
asked  Dr.  Doane,  taking  it  from  Margaret.  "  You  found 
hun  rather  heterodox,  did  you  not  ?  " 

"  The  discussion  was  between  Mr.  Doane  and  George ; " 
she  replied,  "  I  did  not  hear  him  state  his  views  very  defi 
nitely." 

"  His  views  might  be  improved," — and  Margaret  dis 
cerned  the  real  feeling  beneath  the  doctor's  light  tone.  "  I 
don't  know  of  any  body  who  would  make  a  better  pilgrim 
than  Fred,  if  he  would  but  assume  the  staff  and  shoon." 

"  Are  the  prescribed  equipments  so  uniform,  and  must 
every  body  walk  in  the  same  beaten  track  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Doane. 

"  I  think  there  is  a  vast  deal  of  narrow-mindedness  and 
bigotry  in  the  current  views  on  religious  subjects,"  said 
Fanny.  "  I  cannot  see  why  one  conscientious  belief  is  not 
as  good  as  another.  You  can't  expect  every  man's  reason 
to  attain  the  very  same  result." 

"That  is  why  it  is  so  fortunate  for  us  that  truth  is 
revealed  to  us,"  said  Margaret,  "  and  not  left  to  be  discovered 
by  any  thing  so  uncertain  and  finite  as  our  poor  human  rea 
son.  If  it  makes  mistakes  in  material  things,  how  much 
more  must  it  in  spiritual  ?  " 

"  Shall  we  go  in  to  tea,  Walter  ?  "  asked  Fanny.  "  It 
was  announced  some  time  ago." 

"  Of  course,  my  dear,"  replied  the  doctor,  who  had  been 
turning  the  leaves  of  the  book  abstractedly ;  and  he  led  the 
way  with  Fanny  to  the  dining-room. 

Soon  after  tea  Mademoiselle  and  Jack  came  home. 

"  Hello,  Jack !  "  was  George's  greeting.  "  I  know  you 
haven't  had  as  good  a  time  as  I  have.  What  have  you  been 
doing  ?  » 


A   STORY    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  215 

"  Oh,  nothing  much,"  Jack  replied,  with  a  quick  look  at 
Mademoiselle,  who  met  it  with  a  bland  smile. 

"  Well,  I've  been  doing  something  much,  and  you  can't 
guess  what !  Aunt  Margaret's  been  reading  '  Pilgrim '  to 
me  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Aunty,  read  some  to  me  !     Do — do  !  "  cried  Jack. 

"  Is  it  that  I  shall  leave  the  little  boys  here,  Madame  ?  " 
asked  Mademoiselle. 

"  No  ;  take  them  up  with  you,"  answered  Fanny. 

"  Come  up  with  us,  won't  you,  Aunt  Margaret  ?  "  pleaded 
Jack  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  think  your  aunt  needs  to  go  to  church,  Jack,"  Mr. 
Doane  said,  in  a  whisper  loud  enough  for  Margaret  to 
hear.  "  You  know,  when  she  gets  back  to  the  farm  she 
cannot  go,  and  I  think  she  ought  to,  now  that  she  can  ;  don't 
you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  as  she  needs  to  go ;  she's  good  enough  now," 
said  George,  who  had  come  to  listen.  "  Let  her  come  with 
Jack  and  me." 

"  No  ;  let  her  go  with  me — I  know  she  wants  to." 

"  Did  she  say  she  did  ?  " 

"  No  ;  she  has  not  said  so  yet,  but  she  is  going  to." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  is  ?  " 

"  I  will  ask  her,  and  let  you  see.  Miss  Crosby,  will  you 
go  to  church  with  me  to-night  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to,  very  much,"  she  replied  ;  and  then  she 
talked  to  the  boys  so  softly,  •  that  nobody  could  hear  but 
themselves  for  a  moment,  arid  when  she  had  finished  she 
kissed  them,  and  they  said  good-night,  and  went  away  with 
Mademoiselle. 

"  You  will  have  to  get  ready  at  once,"  Mr.  Doane  said ; 
and  Margaret  turned  to  Fanny. 

"  Would  you  not  like  to  go  ?     The  evening  is  so  lovely." 

"  Will  you  go,  Fanny  ?  "  Dr.  Doane  asked.  "  I  can  go 
with  you  to-night,  and  should  like  it,  of  all  things." 

" I  thought  you  knew  that  I  am  not  well,"  Fanny  replied; 
"  though  that  is  not  worth  speaking  of.  I  do  not  care  to  go ; 


216  MAEGAEET  : 

but  that  need  not  keep  you  at  home.  I  can  call  Rosa,  or 
Mademoiselle,  if  I  feel  lonely." 

"  I  don't  care  to  go,  Fanny,  unless  you  do,"  he  answered. 
"  I  knew  you  had  felt  languid  to-day,  but  I  thought  it  was 
the  extreme  heat." 

"  Of  course,  there  is  always  some  insignificant  cause  for 
ray  languor  and  bad  feelings.  Why  do  you  wait,  Mar 
garet  ? "  she  asked,  impatiently,  as  Margaret's  eyes  rested 
sadly  upon  her  for  a  moment. 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell,"  Margaret  answered  lightly,  and 
hurried  away. 

Mr.  Doane  tried  to  be  diverting,  and  to  dispel  the  cloud 
that  rested  over  his  cousin,  and  for  his  sake  was  kind  and 
polite  to  Fanny ;  but  he  was  glad  to  escape  with  Margaret. 

They  were  not,  however,  destined  to  go  to  church  that 
night.  As  they  went  out  of  the  door,  they  discovered  a 
woman  sitting  on  the  lower  step.  She  did  not  move  as  they 
came  near,  and  when  Margaret  stood  before  her,  and  spoke, 
she  answered  without  lifting  her  head  from  the  stone  post 
against  which  it  leaned. 

"  Why,  is  this  Nancy !  "  exclaimed  Margaret,  in  amaze 
ment. 

"  I  reckon  it  are,"  was  the  reply,  in  a  faint  voice. 

"  Are  you  sick  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  as  Nance  slowly  lifted 
her. hand,  and  pushed  back  the  ragged  sun-bonnet  that  had 
partly  hidden  her  face,  showing  how  ghastly  and  haggard  she 
looked. 

"  Oh,  drefful  sick  5  I'm  'mos'  dead,"  replied  Nance,  with  a 
dismal  shake  of  her  head. 

"  Do  you  want  any  thing  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Doane,  taking  out 
his  pocket-book ;  and  he  added,  to  Margaret,  "  We  cannot 
wait ;  we  shall  be  late  as  it  is,  I  am  afraid." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? "  asked  Margaret  gently. 
"  Do  you  want  to  tell  me  any  thing  about  Chloe,  or  your 
self?" 

"  Ther'  a'n't  nothin'  ter  tell,"  Nance  replied.  "  I  tolo  yer 
I  dunno  nothin'  'bout  the  gal,  an'  no  more  I  don't." 


A   8TCRY   OF   LIFE   m   A   TKAIEIE   HOME.  217 

"  What  did  you  come  here  for,  then  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Doane 
impatiently. 

Margaret  offered  the  money  that  Mr.  Doane  put  into  her 
hand,  but  Nance  only  shook  her  head  dismally. 

"  What  can  we  do  for  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  I'm  awful  sick,"  Nance  moaned,  "  an'  I  ha'n't  got 
no  place  ter  go  to — an'  I  couldn't  never  git  thar  if  I  hed." 

"  How  did  you  get  here,  if  you  are  so  ill  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Doane. 

"  I  jis'  crawled  along  so  fur,  but  I  ha'n't  got  strengt'  to 
go  no  furder." 

"  Where  is  your  husband  ?  "  Margaret  asked.  "  Won't 
he  come  and  take  care  of  you  ?  " 

Nance  groaned,  and  feebly  wrung  her  hands. 

"  He's  gone  an'  lef '  me  ;  he  tuck  all  we  hed  'cept  dese 
yer " — plucking  at  her  rags — "  an'  went  off.  Las'  night  I 
slep'  on  de  ground.  Oh-h  !  " 

"  Is  he  coming  back  ?  " 

"  No,  he  a'n't.  He's  done  clared  away  down  to  Kintuck', 
an'  I  sha'n't  never  see  him  no  more  ;  "  and  she  rocked  to  and 
fro,  and  moaned  piteously.  "  He  warn't  allers  good  to  me — 
he'd  beat  me  now  an'  ag'in,  an'  'ud  keep  more'n  his'n  share  o' 
the  vittlcs.  But  I'se  lived  'long  uv  um  a  good  many  year, 
an'  it's  powerful  lonesome  'thout  um." 

"  What  made  him  leave  you  behind  ?  "  asked  Margaret, 
whose  heart  was  filled  with  pity  for  the  forlorn  creature. 

"  'Coz  I  gin  out,  an'  warn't  no  use  no  more ;  an'  he  said 
he  warn't  gwiuc  to  take  care  o'  me,  an'  hev  to  bury  me.  I 
wouldn't  a'  sarved  Sime  sich  a  mean  trick  ; "  and  she  wiped 
big  tears  away  with  her  tatters. 

Margaret  stood  regarding  her  pitifully,  and  considering, 
while  Mr.  Doane  waited  to  hear  what  plan  she  had  to  sug 
gest,  knowing  well  that  she  would  not  leave  the  woman  in 
distress. 

"  Can  she  be  taken  to  the  hospital  to-night  ?  "  she  asked, 
after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,  unless  you  like  my  plan  bettor.  I  know  a  poor 
10 


218  MARGABET I 

woman,  clean  and  respectable,  whose  heart  I  won  by  a  small 
act  of  humanity,  and  if  I  were  to  ask  her  to  take  Mrs.  Stubbs 
into  her  shanty,  neat  as  it  is,  she  would  do  it,  and  give  her 
the  best  of  care." 

"There  could  be  nothing  nicer  than  that,"  exclaimed 
Margaret  eagerly.  "  It  is  asking  a  great  deal  of  the  mistress 
of  the  shanty,"  she  added,  looking  at  Nance ;  "  but  if  you 
are  sure  she  would  consent — " 

"  Oh,  I've  no  doubt  of  it,  if  she  is  not  ill  herself.  In 
that  case  it  would  be  out  of  the  question,  as  she  lives  alone 
with  a  little  grandchild,  who  couldn't  take  charge  of  two 
sick  women  at  a  time." 

"  How  can  we  find  out  about  it  ?  "  asked  Margaret.  "  Is 
she  far  from  here  ?  " 

"  Not  very.  If  you  would  not  object  to  the  walk,  we  will 
go  and  make  known  our  wishes,  and  see  what  can  be  done." 

"  Nancy,  will  you  sit  here  till  we  come  back  ?  "  Margaret 
asked.  "  We  are  going  to  find  a  place  where  you  can  have  a 
nice,  comfortable  bed,  and  will  come  soon  and  take  you  to  it." 

Nance  nodded,  and  Margaret  and  Mr.  Doane  hastened 
away.  The  house  was  a  very  little  one,  but  it  was  as  neat  as 
neat  could  be,  and  its  mistress  matched  it  well.  She  and  her 
grandchild  were  sitting  at  the  door  in  the  moonlight,  and 
their  welcome  of  Mr.  Doane  showed  how  grateful  they  were 
for  that  "  small  act  of  humanity."  His  proposal  was  gladly 
acceded  to,  and  all  Margaret's  representations  of  Nancy's 
squalid,  ragged  condition,  and  her  probable  severe  illness, 
could  not  daunt  the  ardor  with  which  they  hailed  the  pros 
pect  of  doing  something  to  please  Mr.  Doane. 

Margaret  waited  with  them  while  Mr.  Doane  went  to 
bring  Nancy,  and  heard  the  story  of  his  kindness  from  Mrs. 
Hull ;  how  he  had  met  the  child,  one  day  (he  knew  her, 
because  she  used  to  go  with  her  father  when  he  was  his 
father's  gardener),  and  looked  so  kindly  at  her,  that  she  made 
bold  to  tell  him  that  her  father  was  dead,  and  her  grand 
mother  was  sick,  and  they  had  got  to  leave  their  house 
because  they  had  nothing  to  pay  the  rent  with.  So  Mr. 


219 

Doane  bought  the  house  and  gave  it  to  them,  and  had  never 
let  them  want  for  any  thing  since. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  carriage  arrived  in  which  Mr. 
Doane  had  sent  Nancy,  and  he  appeared  almost  at  the  same 
moment.  Mrs.  Hull  looked  rather  dismayed,  when  she  first 
saw  Nancy  emerge  slowly  and  painfully  from  the  carriage 
with  the  rough  help  of  the  driver,  but  her  horror  of  dirt  and 
rags  did  not  prevent  her  showing  kindly  zeal  for  the  poor 
creature  ;  and  Margaret  left  her,  feeling  sure  that  she  would 
be  well  cared  for. 

"  If  all  poor  people  were  like  Mrs.  Hull,"  Mr.  Doane  said, 
as  they  walked  home,  "  I  should  have  more  pity  and  sym 
pathy  for  them." 

"  I  must  confess,"  Margaret  replied,  "  that  your  object  of 
charity  is  much  more  picturesque  than  mine,  and  much  more 
interesting ;  but  I  am  sure  none  could  be  more  needy  than 
that  wretched  Nancy." 

"  Of  course,  you  can  count  your  charities  by  the  score," 
said  Mr.  Doane,  "  while  Mrs.  Hull  and  her  grandchild  are  the 
sole  instances  of  mine.  I  never  made  any  body  else  glad  or 
thankful,  and  if  they  had  been  less  clean  and  respectable,  I 
should  not  have  made  them  so." 

"  You  have  been  very  kind  to  Nancy,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Margaret.  "  She  disproves  your  harsh  judgment  of  yourself." 

"  Mrs.  Stubbs  had  very  little  to  do  with  my  motives,  I 
assure  you,"  he  replied. 

"  If  you  wished  to  please  and  oblige  me,  you  have  been 
very  successful,"  said  Margaret,  earnestly. 

They  found  Dr.  Doane  alone  in  the  library  when  they 
reached  home.  He  asked  where  they  had  been  to  church,  and 
they  related  their  evening's  adventure.  But  though  he  was 
interested,  and  proposed  to  constitute  himself  Nancy's  phy 
sician  and  to  call  in  the  morning,  his  manner  was  sad  and 
quiet,  and  he  seemed  unable  to  throw  off  the  depression. 

"  Will  you  sing  for  me  before  I  go,  Miss  Crosby  ?  "  Mr. 
Doane  asked.  "  It  is  late,  but  I  feel  the  need  of  that  soothing 
influence ;  "  and  she  went  to  the  piano  and  sang, 


220        »  MAKGAKET I 

"  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul." 

"  I  have  heard  that  before,  but  never  knew  how  beautiful 
it  was,"  Mr.  Doane  said  when  it  was  ended. 

"  It  is  the  sweetest  hymn  I  know,"  Margaret  returned. 

"  I  think  you  make  prayers  of  the  hymns  you  sing.  You 
put  your  heart  into  every  word." 

"  I  love  them,"  she  replied,  "  they  so  often  express  our 
needs  and  longings  better  than  we  could  ourselves." 

"  Will  you  sing  one  more — one  that  you  think  expresses 
my  needs,  and  ought  to  express  my  longings  ?  " 

Margaret  looked  at  him  wistfully,  and  there  was  a  trem 
ble  in  her  voice  as  she  sung, 

"  Kock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me." 

Mr.  Doane  made  no  comment  when  she  ceased,  and  very 
soon  said  good-night. 

Fanny  did  not  appear  at  breakfast  the  next  morning. 
Dr.  Doane,  too,  was  absent,  having  been  called  away  at  a 
very  early  hour,  and  Margaret  had  breakfast  alone  with 
Mademoiselle  and  the  boys.  She  told  the  boys  of  her  hav 
ing  seen  Xancy  again,  and  what  she  and  Mr.  Doane  had 
done  for  her,  Mademoiselle  the  while  thinking  what  a  nice 
little  tale  she  could  make  for  Madame's  entertainment. 

Mr.  Doane  came  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  to  say  that 
he  bad  stopped  at  Mrs.  Hull's  door  in  passing,  to  ask  after 
Mrs.  Stubbs'  health,  and  had  been  told  that  she  was  very  ill, 
and  needed  the  doctor  at  once. 

"  Walter  and  I  were  going  there  directly  after  breakfast," 
said  Margaret,  "  but  he  was  called  away." 

"Why  should  you  go,  pray?"  exclaimed  Mr.  Doane, 
"  you  surely  would  not  minister  to  her  in  the  capacity  of 
nurse,  and  she  is  by  far  too  benighted  to  make  spiritual  ad 
vice  of  any  avail." 

"  I  think  I  ought  to  go,"  Margaret  replied. 

"  That  is  equivalent  to  saying  that  you  must  and  will ; 
so  I  will  invite  myself  to  luncheon,  and  walk  there  with  you 
afterwards." 


A   STOEY    OF    LIFE    IN   A   1'KAIEIE    HOME.  221 

Fanny  came  down  to  luncheon,  and,  to  Margaret's  sur 
prise  and  relief,  was  in  one  of  her  most  balmy,  cheerful 
moods.  It  was  only  clouded  for  a  moment,  when  Margaret, 
taking  it  for  granted  that  she  knew  about  Nancy,  referred 
to  her  incidentally,  and  seeing  her  surprise,  told  the  story. 
She  merely  shuddered  at  the  idea  of  such  contamination,  and 
wondered  that  any  body  should  take  the  trouble  to  care  for 
such  degraded  creatures. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  suddenly  changing  the  sub 
ject,  "  that  "Walter  has  decided  to  start  even  earlier  than  the 
day  fixed  ?  this  week  Friday  ?  Can  you  be  ready,  Fred,  and 
you,  Margaret  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  Margaret  replied.  "  But  I  thought  Walter 
could  not  leave  town  until  next  week,  and  that  you  couldn't 
be  ready,  Fanny  ?  " 

"  I  found  that  I  could  expedite  my  arrangements  some 
what,"  Fanny  replied,  "  and  Walter  can  manage  his  business 
so  as  to  leave  on  Friday.  The  sooner  we  get  away,  the  bet 
ter  I  shall  be  pleased." 

"  Where  shall  you  go  first,  Fanny  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"We— Walter  and  Fred  and  I— go  to  St.  Paul's;  don't 
we,  Fred  ?  Though  I  need  not  appeal  to  you,  for  you  have 
declared  so  often  that  you  had  no  choice  as  to  our  route. 
That  is  my  idea.  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  St.  Paul's." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  manage  to  take  the  farm  in 
your  way,  and  leave  your  sister  and  the  boys  there,"  Mr. 
Doane  remarked. 

"  We  cannot  do  that  without  spoiling  our  trip,"  replied 
Fanny,  looking  annoyed.  "  There  will  be  plenty  of  persons 
under  whose  care  Walter  can  place  Margaret  and  the  chil 
dren,  without  our  going  quite  out  of  our  way." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  have  you  do  that,"  said  Mar 
garet.  "  I  should  not  in  the  least  mind  travelling  alone  with 
George  and  Jack." 

"  If  I  happened  to  bo  going  in  that  direction,  would  you 
accept  of  my  escort,  Miss  Crosby?"  asked  Mr.  Doane. 

"  Thankfully,"  replied  Margaret. 


222  MAEGAEET ! 

Fanny  looked  in  perfect  amazement  at  Mr.  Doane. 

"What  has  occasioned  such  a  sudden  change  in  your 
plans,  Fred  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  My  plans  have  not  assumed  very  definite  shape  as  yet," 
he  replied,  "  but  I  have  been  thinking  for  some  time  of  going 
east  at  once,  instead  of  keeping  to  my  first  intention." 

Little  more  was  said  on  the  subject,  but  Fanny's  mood 
was  decidedly  changed,  and  when  Mr.  Doane  and  Margaret 
started  for  Mrs.  Hull's,  she  looked  after  them  with  any  thing 
but  an  amiable  expression. 

Mr.  Doane  left  Margaret  at  Mrs.  Hull's  door,  promising 
to  call  for  her  in  an  hour;  and  the  hour  was  a  very  busy  one 
for  Margaret.  She  found  Nancy  suffering  very  much,  though 
Dr.  Doane  had  been  there,  and  said  that  she  would  be  better 
in  a  few  days — that  her  illness  was  caused  by  the  hardships 
and  exposure  she  had  endured.  Nobody  would  have  recog 
nized  her  as  she  lay  in  Mrs.  Hull's  clean,  fresh  bed,  her  hair 
smoothly  brushed  under  a  muslin  cap,  and  her  face  having 
lost  so  much  of  its  hard,  sullen  look  in  those  few  hours. 
Mrs.  Hull  had  slept  little,  so  constantly  had  the  sick  woman 
needed  her  attention,  and  Margaret  sent  her  to  lie  down 
while  she  watched  by  her  patient,  bathed  her  aching  head, 
and  gave  the  cooling  drinks  her  parched  lips  craved.  Nancy 
would  now  and  then  open  her  eyes  and  gaze  at  the  sweet 
face  with  a  perplexed  look,  as  if  her  poor  brain  were  trying 
to  solve  the  mystery  of  having  such  an  attendant. 

Each  day  of  her  stay  in  St.  Louis  found  Margaret  at  Mrs. 
Hull's,  and  her  only  regret  at  going  so  soon  was  on  Nancy's 
account.  But  the  worst  was  over,  the  doctor  said ;  and  Mrs. 
Hull  promised,  not  only  for  Mr.  Doane's  sake,  but  for  Marga 
ret's,  to  take  care  of  her  as  long  as  she  needed  care.  The 
doctor  also  mentioned  her  case  to  some  benevolent  ladies, 
who  promised  to  see  that  she  had  work  when  she  should  be 
well  again. 

When  Margaret  paid  her  last  visit,  on  Thursday,  Nancy, 
who  took  little  notice  as  yet,  except  to  look  at  Margaret  oc 
casionally,  heard  something  tha,t  made  her  raise  her  head 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  223 

from  the  pillow  and  say,  in  a  startled  whisper,  "  Be  you 
gwine  away?  " 

"  Yes,  Nancy,  I  am  going  to-morrow.  But  you  will  be 
taken  care  of;  even  after  you  get  well,  you  will  have  friends 
to  help  you ;  and  you  know  I  have  tried  to  tell  you  about 
the  kind  Father  whom  you  cannot  see,  but  who  sees  and 
cares  for  you." 

"  Be  you  gwine  'way  off  to  that  place  whar  you  lived  ?  " 
Nancy  whispered. 

"  Yes ;  I  am  going  home  to  the  farm,  Nancy." 

Nancy's  head  fell  back  on  the  pillow,  but  she  did  not  take 
her  eyes  from  Margaret.  "  Ye'll  see  me  agin,"  she  said,  em 
phatically,  though  her  voice  was  so  weak  ;  "  I  an't  gwine  to 
stay  yer,  whar  I  can't  never  see  ye — sec  ef  I  do  1 "  And 
when  Margaret  bade  her  good-by,  she  repeated  her  assertion 
that  she  would  see  her  again.  Mrs.  Hull  and  her  grand 
child  v.  ere  well-nigh  heart-broken,  to  take  leave  of  her  whom 
they  had  already  learned  to  love  and  to  regard  almost  as  an 
angel.  But  Mrs.  Hull  had  a  secret  relief,  which  was  no  less 
than  the  hope  and  firm  belief  that  he  who  had  brought  the 
lady  to  her  humble  little  home,  and  made  it  so  bright  for  a 
few  days,  would  bring  her  back  to  brighten  a  grand  and 
beautiful  home  of  his  own  for  his  whole  life,  and  then  she 
should  surely  have  the  sweet  presence  to  comfort  her  very 
often ;  for  she  said  to  herself,  "  She  isn't  one  to  forget,  even 
such  as  me." 

That  afternoon,  when  Margaret  got  home,  she  went  to 
Fanny's  room  to  ask  some  question  about  the  arrangements 
for  the  next  morning.  Fanny  answered  her  knock  with  a 
"  Come  in,"  but  looked  annoyed  when  she  saw  Margaret ; 
"  I  thought  it  was  Mademoiselle.  I  had  sent  for  her." 

She  had  a  little  table  drawn  up  beside  her  couch,  which 
was  covered  with  papers,  and  two  or  three  large  trunks 
were  partly  packed,  while  bed  and  chairs  were  filled  with 
-the  contents  of  drawers. 

"  You  are  busy,  Fanny,"  Margaret  said.  "  I  can  come 
again  by-and-by." 


224:  MARGARET  : 

"  No,  I  am  not  busy,"  Fanny  replied.  "  Rosa,  gather 
these  papers  and  put  them  in  my  writing-desk,  and  bring 
me  the  key ;  "  and  she  threw  herself  back  on  the  cushion. 

Margaret  looked  on  while  Rosa  did  as  she  was  bidden, 
and  the  desire  to  have  her  anxiety  relieved  gave  her  courage 
to  say,  playfully,  "  I  hope  all  those  formidable-looking  bills 
are  receipted,  Fanny." 

Fanny  had  been  too  much  annoyed  and  harassed  by  her 
examination  to  be  able  to  control  her  irritation  and  behave 
discreetly,  and  she  replied  impatiently,  "  They  are  not  re 
ceipted,  and  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  that  they  ever  will  be. 
If  Walter  expects  me  to  look  after  all  the  troublesome 
details  of  housekeeping,  and  be  continually  paying  this 
little  bill  and  that  little  bill,  he  is  greatly  mistaken." 

"  I  think  Walter  mentioned  incidentally  that  he  gave  you 
money  to  meet  the  current  expenses.  If  he  does  not  give 
enough,  dear,  ask  him  for  more.  But — I  have  such  a  horror 
of  bills." 

"  So  have  I,"  answered  Fanny;  "  and  so  we  will  not  talk 
of  them." 

"  You  will  not  leave  those  unsettled — locked  in  your 
drawer,  Fanny  ?  Give  them  to  Walter,  and  let  him  make 
every  thing  right,  then  you  can  begin  anew  when  you  come 
home  in  the  fall." 

Fanny  deigned  no  reply  to  this  appeal,  but  called  to 
Rosa,  who  was  in  the  dressing-room,  to  come  and  finish  pack 
ing  ;  and  Margaret  went  away  filled  with  new  forebodings. 

Margaret  and  the  boys  were  to  start  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  and  Fanny  and  the  doctor  later  in  the  day.  Mr.  Doane's 
intentions  were  still  unsettled,  or  known  only  to  himself. 
He  continued  to  talk  of  them  in  such  an  ambiguous  manner 
that  nobody  knew  what  to  expect,  but  the  uncertainty  was 
made  a  certainty  when  he  made  his  appearance  at  the  depot 
in  the  morning,  and  asked  Dr.  Doane  what  messages  he 
should  carry  to  his  friends  in  New  York. 

"  How  will  you  make  your  peace  with  Fanny,  Fred  ?  " 
asked  the  doctor. 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  225 

"  I  have  just  seen  her,"  he  replied,  "  and  she  has  promised 
to  forgive  me  if  I  will  meet  you  by-and-by,  and  I  shall  aim  to 
accomplish  that." 

There  were  tears  in  Dr.  Doane's  eyes  when  he  bade  Mar 
garet  and  the  children  good-by,  and  in  Margaret's  too,  as  she 
looked  back  at  his  sober  face  when  the  train  left  the  depot. 

She  found.  Mr.  Doane  a  delightful  travelling  companion, 
and  when  he  gave  her  and  the  boys  into  Dr.  Somers'  care  at 
Jonesville,  she  felt  that  she  should  miss  her  new  friend  very 
much,  and  the  pleasure  of  her  return  was  not  a  little  shad 
owed  by  the  sense  of  what  she  had  lost ;  for  it  was  not  likely 
that  they  would  meet  again  soon,  or  probably  ever,  to  resume 
the  pleasant  friendly  intercourse  that  had  added  so  much  to 
her  enjoyment  in  St.  Louis.  He  had  insisted  that  he  should 
come  for  the  boys  in  the  fall,  whether  the  doctor  would  let 
him  or  no,  and  she  had  assured  him  that  she  would  not  part 
with  them,  except  to  an  accredited  ambassador.  Dr.  Somers 
was  delighted  to  have  her  back,  and  his  questions  as  to  all 
she  had  seen  and  done  since  she  went  away  kept  her  busy 
answering  during  their  drive  from  Jonesville,  while  the  boys 
were  in  a  wild  state  of  excitement  at  the  thought  of  seeing 
the  farm  and  Jotham  and  Miss  Patty  again. 

Margaret's  eager  eyes  discovered  the  care  and  taste  that 
had  been  expended  to  make  the  plain  little  home  look  at 
tractive  to  her,  and  she  inwardly  blessed  every  blossom  and 
vine  that  gave  forth  their  sweet  greeting  as  they  drew  near. 

Jotham  was  at  the  gate,  and  expressed  his  gratification 
at  seeing  her  and  the  boys,  in  hearty  if  homely  phrase,  and 
Miss  Patty  flew  from  the  house  when  she  discovered  their 
arrival,  sobbing  forth  her  delight,  as  she  clasped  Margaret 
and  then  the  children  to  her  heart.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis 
came  that  very  night;  and  it  happened  that  Mr.  Thomas 
preached  at  the  little  red  school-house  the  next  day.  Mar 
garet  and  the  boys  went,  and  it  surely  was  some  proof  to 
her  of  strength  and  grace,  that  she  could  meet  the  memo 
ries  that  place  recalled,  without  losing  her  peace  of  heart. 

10* 


CHAPTER  XX. 

I  wait  for  my  story — the  birds  cannot  sing  it,    «• 

Not  one,  as  he  sits  on  the  tree  ; 
The  bells  cannot  ring  it,  but  long  years,  0  bring  it ! 

Such  as  I  wish  it  to  be.  JEAN  INGELOW. 

"I  AM  glad  to  find  you  here.  I  was  afraid  you  might 
have  left  the  city,"  Philip  Ventnor  said  as  he  entered  Mr. 
Russell's  library,  where  his  friend  was  enjoying  the  moon« 
light  which  streamed  in  at  the  window,  making  the  room  al 
most  as  light  as  day. 

"  What  occasion  had  you  for  such  a  fear,  and  where  did 
you  think  I  had  gone  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell. 

"I  did  not  know;  I  only  thought  that  if  you  weren't 
obliged  to  stay  here,  you  surely  would  not — it  is  such  a  shame 
to  waste  these  glorious  June  days  and  nights  in  town.  Just 
imagine  that  moonlight  at  the  seashore,  or  among  the  moun 
tains  !  I  wonder  how  those  lovely  silvery  beams  can  endure 
to  waste  themselves  on  brick  walls  and  stone  pavements,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  unappreciatlve  humanity  that  never  thinks 
whether  it  is  the  light  of  the  moon  or  the  street-lamps  that 
shine  upon  it." 

"  The  moon  cannot  very  well  discriminate,  and  shines  on 
the  unappreciative  and  the  appreciative  alike ;  and  I  be 
lieve  her  influence  is  often  felt  when  it  is  not  recognized,  and 
where  you  would  never  suspect  it." 

"  If  the  influence  is  never  made  manifest,  what  is  the  good 
of  it  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  You  mustn't  judge  of  the  clod  as  it  lies  bare  and  brown, 
and  seemingly  lifeless,  under  the  cold  rains  and  bleak  winda 
of  March.  Sooner  or  later  it  is  almost  sure  to  feel 

'  a  stir  of  might, 

A  something  within  it  that  reaches  and  towers ; 
And,  groping  blindly  above  it  for  light, 
Climbs  to  a  soul  in  grass  and  flowers  ' — 

though  you  may  not  be  thei-e  to  see." 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE    HOME.  227 

"  I  think  it  is  always  March  for  some  poor  clods,"  answer 
ed  Philip. 

"  And  yet,  '  June  may  be  had  by  the  poorest  comer.'  It 
isn't  always  safe,"  he  added,  in  a  lighter  tone,  "  to  judge  the 
inner  by  the  outer  man.  Now,  you  would  hardly  imagine 
that  one  so  material  and  prosaic  as  I,  could  ride  on  those 
moonbeams ;  and  yet,  they  had  borne  me  far  enough  from 
the  red  walls  and  pavements  that  you  condemn,  and  from  the 
noise  and  hubbub  of  the  streets,  and  it  is  fair  to  suppose  that 
a  respectable  proportion  of  those  who  are  here  in  body,  send 
their  spirits  to  enjoy  June  in  the  country." 

"  What  keeps  you  from  taking  your  '  material  and  prosaic' 
self  there  ?  "  asked  Philip. 

"  My  aunt,  Mrs.  More,  is  coming  to  make  me  a  visit  of  a 
week  or  two,"  Mr.  Russell  replied.  "I  suppose  I  should 
have  left  town  earlier  if  it  had  not  been  for  that,  but  I  am 
not  sorry  to  be  detained." 

"  I  never  heard  you  speak  of  Mrs.  More.  Is  she  a  sister 
of  your  father's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  has  not  been  here  since  long  before  his 
death ;  indeed,  I  think  her  last  visit  was  made  just  after  I 
went  to  China.  She  lives  at  the  West,  and  has  been  spend 
ing  some  weeks  with  her  children,  who  are  settled  in  and 
about  Boston." 

"  I  hope  you  will  invite  me  to  come  and  see  her ;  I  have 
a  great  liking  for  old  ladies." 

'•  I  shall  certainly  expect  you  to  conceive  a  great  liking 
for  her,"  Mr.  Russell  replied.  "  If  old  age  were  always  sure 
to  be  as  lovely  and  serene  as  hers,  we  might  well  wish  for  its 
arrival.  It  will  seem  strange  enough  to  her,  coming  to  this 
old  home,  and  I  the  only  one  to  welcome  her.  She  will  feel 
the  changes  as  she  has  never  done  before,  and  I  could  almost 
have  begged  her  to  stay  away  and  to  spare  her  the  sight  of 
these  empty,  deserted  rooms." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  Mr.  Russell 
said,  "  Is  your  book  to  come  out  soon,  Philip  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  published  early  in  the  autumn,"  ho 
answered. 


228  MARGARET  I 

"  How  about  those  '  billows  of  restlessness  ?  '  have  they 
subsided,  or  borne  you  to  a  desired  haven  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  violently  tossed  about ;  but  the  tumult  has 
subsided,  for  I  have  resolved  to  do  something  as  soon  as  I  can 
find  it  to  do." 

"Something  more,  you  mean.  Don't  cast  such  unjust 
imputations  upon  what  you  have  already  done." 

"  I  have  scribbled  lazily  what  has  earned  food  and  clothes 
for  my  useless  self,  and  that  is  all ;  and  it  is  very  little  for  an 
able-bodied,  tolerably  well-brained  man  to  accomplish.  I 
have  been  long  enough  in  seeing  it,  but  I  trust  my  eyes  are 
effectually  opened  now." 

"If  what  you  have  done  has  been  the  result  of  lazy  scrib 
bling,"  Mr.  Russell  said,  "  what  would  you  not  accomplish 
by  earnest  work  with  your  pen  ?  " 

"  My  pen  must  help  the  untried  something,  but  it  can't 
make  all  the  money  I  need." 

"  What  does  your  mother  say  of  your  intentions  with  re 
gard  to  her  and  your  sisters  ?  "  Mr.  Russell  asked. 

"  I  have  said  nothing  to  her  on  the  subject,"  Philip  an 
swered.  "I  thought  I  would  wait  until  I  could  disclose 
something  besides  intentions ;  she  has  too  good  reasons  for 
distrusting  them.  And  the  truth  is,  I  am  still  utterly  in  the 
fog  as  to  what  I  am  to  do,  there  are  so  few  things  that  come 
within  the  range  of  my  capabilities." 

"  I  am  glad  you  discriminate  between  capabilities  and 
capacities,"  Mr.  Russell  replied.  "  What  have  you  thought 
of?" 

"  I  could  more  easily  tell  you  what  I  have  not  thought 
of,"  answered  Philip.  "  Nothing  has  escaped  my  inquisition, 
from  a  variety-shop  in  some  small  country-village,  or  district- 
school,  where  I  could  board  around  and  lay  up  my  wages,  to 
a  consulship  to  Kamschatka  or  Patagonia,  or  some  other 
foreign  part.  I  find  myself  contemplating  every  manner  of 
calling — law,  medicine,  art,  business  agencies,  offices  un 
der  government,  itinerant  peddling,  and  what  not,  with  a 
speculative  eye;  but  somehow  the  right  thing — for  which 


A   STOEY   OF   LIFE   m   A   PBAIRIE   HOME.  229 

I  am  fitted,  and  that  is  fitted  for  me — has  not  turned  up 

yet." 

"  How  would  a  professorship — of  belles-lettres,  for  in 
stance — strike  you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell. 

"  As  the  tiling  of  all  others  to  be  preferred.  But,  unfor 
tunately,  it  is  one  of  the  things  that  seem  altogether  beyond 
my  reach.  No  college  would  choose  a  young,  unknown, 
inexperienced  man  to  fill  such  a  place." 

"As  to  the  inexperience,  time  would  speedily  remedy 
that ;  the  youthfulness  might  be  overlooked ;  and  as  to  the 
obscurity,  we  will  not  argue  that  point.  Suifice  it  to  say, 
that,  even  allowing  those  three  weighty  objections,  I  think 

you  can  have  a  professorship  in  University,  if  you  will 

accept  it." 

Philip  fairly  started  from  his  seat,  in  his  surprise  and 
delight. 

"  You  cannot  really  mean  it !  and  yet  I  know  you  must 
have  good  grounds  for  such  an  opinion." 

"  I  have  very  good  grounds,  Philip,"  Mr.  Russell  replied, 
"  although  I  cannot  speak  with  absolute  certainty,  until  the 
election  has  taken  place.  I  should  have  written  you  with 
regard  to  it,  but  I  thought  each  day  would  surely  bring  you 
here,  and  so  delayed,  when  you  had  a  right  to  know  of  it  as 
soon  as  I  did.  I  might  have  saved  you  all  the  fruitless  ( con 
templations  '  of  the  past  ten  days." 

"  Do  not  speak  of  that,"  cried  Philip.  "  If  I  had  been 
enduring  untold  tortures  of  mind  and  body,  I  should  forget 
them,  and  be  happy  now." 

Mr.  Russell  smiled.  "  You  look  as  confident  and  san 
guine  as  if  you  already  filled  the  professional  chair,  and  I 
were  a  class  of  students  about  to  receive  your  instructions." 

Philip  colored,  but  answered  earnestly,  "  I  am  not  ashamed 
of  my  confidence,  for  it  is  not  founded  upon  my  own  merits. 
How  could  I  be  doubtful,  when  you  have  undertaken  my 
cause  ? "  and  he  impetuously  caught  Mr.  Russell's  hand. 
"  God  only  knows  what  I  should  have  been  but  for  you.  I 
wish  you  could  see  my  heart." 


230  MABGAKET : 

"  I  do  see  it,  Philip ;  and  what  I  read  there  gives  me 
happiness." 

Philip's  face  glowed  with  pleasure.  "  Is  that  really  true  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  thought  I  had  only  been  a  care  and  trouble  ; 
but  to  have  caused  you  any  happiness,  that  is  almost  too 
much  to  believe." 

"  You  may  believe  it  fully,"  Mr.  Russell  returned.  "  And 
now  let  me  tell  you  on  what  grounds  I  base  my  expectations 

for  you.    I  have  a  young  friend  in  University,  from 

whom  I  had  a  letter  the  very  day  after  you  were  here  last ; 
and  in  it  he  mentioned,  incidentally,  that  the  Professor  of 
Belles-Lettres  and  Modern  Languages  had  resigned,  and  that 
he  did  not  think  there  was  any  one  in  view  to  fill  his  place. 
I  wrote  at  once  to  one  of  the  trustees,  with  whom  I  hap 
pened  to  be  acquainted,  giving  your  name,  and  setting  forth 
your  qualifications ;  and  I  soon  received  a  very  favorable 
answer.  I  have  learned  from  Mr.  Heath,  the  young  friend 
of  whom  I  spoke,  that  there  are  only  two  or  three  others 
under  consideration,  and  their  chances  are  regarded  as  small ; 
so  that  I  feel  quite  confident  of  yours.  The  election  will 
take  place  next  month,  and,  if  you  are  the  fortunate  candi 
date,  you  will  enter  upon  your  duties  in  September,  I  sup 
pose.  How  will  you  feel  about  leaving  New  York  ?  " 

Philip  hesitated  an  instant,  looking  grave ;  then  answered, 
that  he  had  no  doubt  he  should  find  it  hard,  but  he  knew 
very  well  it  was  the  best  thing  he  could  do.  He  should  be 
more  likely  to  work  hard  and  accomplish  something  out  of 
New  York  than  in  it." 

"  I  saw  Claudia  this  morning,"  he  added,  after  a  little 
pause. 

"  Did  you  ?  "  said  Mr.  Russell,  in  surprise. 

"  It  was  only  for  a  moment.  She  was  with  her  father 
and  mother,  just  taking  the  train  to  go  north,  as  I  came  in 
from  the  country." 

"  Did  she  see  you  ?  "  Mr.  Russell  asked. 

"  Yes,  she  saw  me ;  and,  like  the  stupid,  blundering  fel 
low  that  I  am,  I  was  just  on  the  point  of  rushing  up  to  her, 


A    STORY    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  231 

when  a  look  in  her  eyes  arrested  my  insane  impulse,  and 
brought  me  to  my  senses  ;  and  then  I  saw  that  her  mother's 
cold  eyes  were  upon  me.  I  suppose  they  were  going  away 
for  the  summer." 

"  They  are  to  travel  for  a  time,  I  believe,  and  then  spend 
some  weeks  at  the  seashore." 

"  Have  you  seen  her  lately  ?  "  asked  Philip,  eagerly. 

"  I  was  there  a  few  evenings  ago,"  Mr.  Russell  replied  ; 
but  he  did  not  say  that  he  had  been  invited  to  dinner,  and 
had  received  a  very  polite  invitation  from  Mrs.  Thome  to  join 
her  party  at  the  seashore. 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is  ill,"  said  Philip,  "  she  looked  so  pale 
this  morning." 

"  No,  she  is  not  ill,  though  she  does  look  a  little  pale. 
But  the  change  will  do  her  good,  and  she  will  come  back  in 
the  fall  as  fresh  and  blooming  as  ever,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"  I  do  not  see  why  I  should  have  been  allowed  to  darken 
her  bright  young  life,"  Philip  said,  sadly. 

"  Would  she  rather  have  unclouded  sunshine  than  your 
love,  do  you  think,  even  though  it  rests  under  a  shadow  for 
the  present  ?  " 

"  If  I  only  could  feel  sure  that  the  time  would  ever  come 
when  it  would  bring  to  her  the  peace  and  happiness  she  de 
serves  !  "  exclaimed  Philip.  "  I  have  wilfully  shut  my  eyes 
upon  my  duty  to  my  mother  and  sisters,  feeling  that  if  I 
recognized  that,  it  would  but  farther  off  the  bright  days  for 
Claudia  and  me." 

"  Never  fear  but  they  will  come,"  Mr.  Russell  said,  cheer 
fully.  "  I  have  strong  faith  for  you  and  Claudia ;  and  that 
you  bravely  face  this  duty,  docs  not  lessen  it.  You  are  both 
young,  and  are  assured  of  each  other's  love,  and  you  can  be 
patient,  I  know." 

"  If  I  could  only  know  that  she  does  not  suffer.  But  her 
mother  is  so  cold  and  hard,  and  so  resolute — " 

"  She  loves  Claudia,  and  her  father  has  no  sympathy  with 
his  wife's  ambitious  schemes.  I  think  he  is  a  great  comfort 
to  Claudia." 


232  MARGAEET  '. 

"  I  wonder  if  her  proud  mother  would  utterly  look  down 
upon  a  Professor  of  Belles-Lettres.  I  have  no  fears  but  that 
Claudia  herself  would  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  position 
I  could  give  her  as  such,  and  with  the  income  of  that  posi 
tion,  and  my  pen." 

"  I  presume  she  would  be  happy  to  live  in  a  cottage  and 
wear  calico,  as  your  wife,"  replied  Mr.  Russell,  smiling. 

"How  thankful  I  am  for  my  undoubting  faith  in  her 
love  !  "  exclaimed  Philip.  "  I  never  have  dreamed  of  ques 
tioning  it,  since  that  one  chance  meeting  last  spring ;  and  I 
know  that  she  is  as  well  assured  of  mine.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  that  one  happy  hour,  how  could  we  have  borne  the 
months  of  separation  before  us  ?  " 

"  Fortune  dealt  very  kindly  with  you,"  Mr.  Russell  said, 
and  the  sadness  in  his  voice  made  Philip  hate  himself  for 
having  talked  so  freely  of  what  must  awaken  painful  remem 
brances  in  his  friend's  heart. 

"  I  wish  I  could  have  my  mother  and  sister  with  me,  if  I 
get  this  position  and  leave  New  York,"  he  said,  by  way  of 
changing  the  subject.  "  But  that  is  out  of  the  question,  I 
know.  It  would  leave  my  grandparents  too  desolate,  and 
they  would  never  consent  to  it.  I  presume  my  grandfather 
will  rebel  against  my  plans,  and  call  them  needless." 

"  What  are  your  plans  ?  " 

"  I  thought  of  taking  upon  myself  the  education  of  the 
little  girls." 

"  The  very  best  thing  you  could  do — the  simplest  and  the 
wisest." 

"  Chai'lie,  you  know,"  Philip  continued,  "  has  no  taste  for 
study ;  he  could  not  be  induced  to  go  to  school  another  year, 
much  less  to  college,  and  is  waiting  impatiently  for  a  vacancy 
in  grandfather's  warehouse.  He  has  such  a  passion  for  busi 
ness,  that  I  think  he  will  succeed,  and  soon  support  himself, 
besides  being  able,  in  time,  to  relieve  grandfather,  and  per 
haps  carry  on  the  business  himself." 

So  they  talked  on  of  Philip's  plans  and  prospects  till  a 
late  hour.  The  crimson  room,  which  he  had  occupied  for  a 


A   STORY   OF   LITE   IN   A   PKAIRIE   HOME.  233 

month  after  Mr.  Russell's  visit  to  his  "  den,"  was  still  called 
Mr.  Ventnor's  room,  and  was  at  his  disposal  whenever  ha 
chose  to  spend  a  night  in  town.  At  his  mother's  and  grand 
parents'  entreaty,  he  had  gone  home  to  live,  instead  of  taking 
a  room  in  the  city,  when  he  persisted  in  leaving  Mr.  Russell's 
house ;  and  of  late  he  had  been  so  busy  with  his  book,  that 
he  had  hardly  left  the  country  at  all,  much  to  the  delight  of 
his  family,  whose  comfort  and  satisfaction  in  him  seemed  to 
know  no  bounds. 

Mr.  Russell  said  to  Philip  the  next  morning,  as  they  sat 
at  breakfast,  "  I  look  for  my  aunt  to-morroAV  morning,  and 
the  day  after  I  wish  you  would  come  in  the  afternoon  and 
drive  with  us,  and  of  course  come  home  to  dinner,  and  spend 
the  night.  My  aunt  is  coming  from  a  house  full  of  gay 
young  people,  and  she  will  feel  the  change  to  one  with  only 
a  staid  old  bachelor  in  it." 

Mr.  Russell  met  Mrs.  More  at  the  boat  the  next  morning. 
-"  You  did  not  come  alone,  did  you  ?  "  he  asked,  when  he  had 
returned  her  affectionate  greeting.  "I  thought  James  was 
coming  with  you." 

"  So  he  did,"  she  replied,  "  but  he  is  looking  for  Chloe : 
she  has  been  missing  for  a  half-hour,  and  I  cannot  imagine 
where  she  is." 

"  And  who  is  Chloe  ?  "  Mr.  Russell  asked. 

"  Why,  she  is  a  little  colored  girl  that  I  brought  from 
home,"  Mrs.  More  explained.  "  She  is  such  an  erratic  little 
thing,  there  is  no  telling  what  she  has  done  with  herself." 

Just  then  her  son  appeared,  and,  having  shaken  hands 
with  his  cousin,  he  said,  laughing,  "  Your  attendant  has  come 
to  light,  mother.  Follow  me,  and  behold  her  in  a  new 
character." 

Mrs.  More  and  Mr.  Russell  went  through  the  saloon  and 
down  the  stairs,  where  the  first  object  that  met  their  eyes 
was  Chloe  emerging  from  the  cabin,  her  hat  hanging  around 
her  neck  by  the  elastic,  leaving  her  little  tufts  of  wool  to  bob 
about  unconfmed,  the  cape  of  her  brown  linen  travelling-dress 
all  crumpled  and  askew — with  a  fat,  red-faced  child  of  some 


234:  MAEGAEET: 

two  years  in  her  arms,  under  whose  weight  she  staggered 
and  gasped.  Following  her  uncertain  steps  came  the  mother 
of  the  child,  a  strapping  Irish  woman,  with  two  children 
tugging  at  her  dress,  and  her  arms  filled  with  bundles  and 
bags.  Most  of  the  passengers  had  left  the  boat,  but  a  few 
remained,  and  there  was  a  general  laugh  at  Chloe's  expense, 
in  which  Mrs.  More  joined. 

She  was  about  to  call  to  her  preoccupied  waiting-maid, 
but  Mr.  Russell  exclaimed,  "  Wait,  Aunt  Clara,  and  see  what 
she  will  do." 

So,  oblivious  of  every  thing  but  her  weighty  charge, 
Chloe  trudged  along,  the  mother  calling,  "  Get  on  wid  ye," 
"  Don't  go  an'  fall  over  the  side,  now,"  and  so  on.  When 
they  were  safely  off  the  plank,  Chloe,  apparently  unable  to 
hold  the  child  another  instant,  dropped  him  on  the  ground  so 
suddenly,  that  he  screamed  loudly,  and  the  mother  raised  her 
hand  to  administer  a  blow  by  way  of  punishment  for  her 
want  of  ceremony  in  dumping  the  child ;  but  Chloe  sprang - 
aside  and  darted  across  the  plank,  nearly  running  against 
Mrs.  More  and  the  two  gentlemen. 

"  Chloe  !  "  Mrs.  More  exclaimed,  "  what  a  looking  child 
you  are  !  Put  on  your  hat,  and  straighten  your  cape." 

As  they  left  the  boat,  Mr.  Russell  noticed  that  Chloe 
watched  her  chance,  when  the  indignant  mother,  who  was 
waiting  for  her  baggage  to  be  landed,  was  busy  with  the 
other  children,  and  thrust  a  piece  of  cake  from  her  own 
pocket  into  the  hand  of  the  child  she  had  befriended. 

"  What  were  you  doing  to  that  poor  little  boy,  Chloe  ?  " 
Mr.  More  asked,  when  they  were  seated  in  the  carriage. 

Chloe  hung  her  head,  and  twisted  her  fingers,  and  an 
swered,  "  I  warn't  a-doin'  nuffin  with  him.  His  mar  beat  him 
awful,  an'  said  he'd  got  to  walk  'long  of  hisself ;  an'  I  fetched 
him,  so's  he  wouldn't  haf  to." 

"  That  was  very  good  of  you,  Chloe,"  said  Mrs.  More. 

"  Weren't  you  sorry  you  did  it,  when  his  mother  was 
about  to  beat  you  ?  "  asked  Mr.  More. 

Mrs.  More  said,  "  Hush,  James,  my  dear !  "  while  Chloe 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PEAIEIE   HOME.  235 

looked  somewhat  surprised,  and  uttered  a  faint  "  No,"  under 
her  breath. 

Every  thing  was  as  cheerful  and  pleasant  as  Janet  knew 
how  to  make  it  for  Mrs.  More's  visit.  But  her  "lead  of 
mind  "  was  to  severe  order  and  immaculate  neatness,  rather 
than  to  homelike  taste  and  grace  and  comfort ;  and  as  Mrs. 
More  looked  about  the  rooms,  where  not  a  speck  of  dust 
could  be  found,  or  -a  chair  or  book  that  was  not  at  sharp 
angles  with  every  other  chair  and  book,  without  the  smallest 
thing  to  show  the  presence  of  a  graceful  woman's  hand,  she 
sighed  to  think  how  different  it  was  once,  and  how  different 
it  might  have  been  now,  if — "  Ah,  well,"  she  thought,  "  that 
was  never  to  be.  But  I  must  hope  that  Robert  will  know 
what  it  is  to  have  love  in  his  home  some  time.  I  wish  I 
could  see  him  as  happy  as.  he  deserves  to  be." 

"  What  a  blessing  it  is  to  have  you  here,  Aunt  Clara !  " 
Mr.  Russell  said,  as  they  sat  in  the  library  that  evening.  "  I 
have  felt  for  the  past  few  months  as  if  I  belonged  to  another 
age — as  if  I  had  lived  on  beyond  my  time ;  it  is  so  long  since 
I  have  had  any  body  to  take  care  of  me,  or  to  call  me  by  my 
Christian  name.  I  think  I  will  not  let  you  go  away,  but  will 
keep  you  here  with  me.  Now,  isn't  it  too  bad  for  you  to 
live  by  yourself  on  a  prairie-farm,  Clara  by  herself  in  St. 
Louis,  and  I  by  myself  in  New  York  ?  " 

"  I  do  think  it  too  bad  for  Clara  not  to  come  and  live 
with  you,  Robert.  She  is  young,  and  could  more  easily  break 
away  from  old  ties  than  I  could.  Why,  my  dear,  only  think 
how  many  years  I  have  lived  in  that  very  same  house,  and 
how  old  I  am  !  " 

"  It  is  worth  while  to  be  old,  to  have  such  soft  white  curls 
as  yours,  Aunt  Clara,  and  such  serene,  quiet  eyes.  I  should 
think  all  the  young  girls  would  envy  you." 

"  Foolish  boy  !  "  Mrs.  More  said  ;  and  she  added,  "  Yes, 
Clara  and  her  children  must  come  to  you — unless  you  find 
somebody  else  whom  you  can  love  well  enough  to  bring  here." 

Mr.  Russell  answered,  lightly,  that  he  was  too  old  and  set 
in  his  ways  for  that. 


236  MARGARET : 

/ 

"  You  are  not  old,  Robert ;  you  are  just  in  the  prime  of 
life." 

"  Look  at  these  gray  hairs  !  "  said  Mr.  Russell,  dropping 
on  his  knee  before  her. 

"  Only  here  and  there  one,"  she  replied,  laying  her  hand 
fondly  on  his  head.  "  Ah,  my  dear,  how  well  I  remember 
when  the  letter  came,  telling  us — your  uncle  and  me — that  a 
boy  was  born  to  this  house  ;  it  seems  sutfh  a  little  time  ago  ! 
We  were  in  our  log-cabin  then ;  how  happy  we  were  toge 
ther,  your  uncle  and  I,  and  your  dear  father  and  mother,  too. 
No,  Robert,  I  cannot  have  you  live  on  in  this  way.  It  strikes 
a  chill  to  my  heart  to  think  of  you  alone  in  this  great  house." 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  such  poor  company,  Aunt  Clara  ? 
I  do  get  tired  of  myself  sometimes,  but  not  often,  and  I  am 
by  no  means  unhappy  in  my  solitude." 

"  I  know  you  are  not  unhappy,  my  dear ;  you  have  learned 
too  well  the  secret  of  contentment  for  that.  But  you  are  not 
happy  and  satisfied  as  you  ought  to  be,  and  might  be.  It  is 
not  possible.  I  wish  I  knew  of  somebody  who  was  good 
enough  for  you,"  she  added,  playfully  putting  the  hair  back 
from  his  forehead.  "  Your  eyes  are  like  your  father's,  Rob 
ert,  and  I  should  love  you  for  that,  even  if  I  saw  you  now 
for  the  first  time,  and  did  not  know  how  well  you  deserve  to 
be  loved." 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  hear  you  say  such  things,  Aunt 
Clara — to  feel  that  you  love  me  because  the  same  blood  runs 
in  our  veins.  But  if  there  is  nobody  good  enough  for  me, 
then  there  is  no  help  for  my  remaining  in  single-wretched 
ness  ;  for  you  surely  would  not  have  me  take  up  with  any 
body  that  was  less  perfect  than  myself." 

Mrs.  More  shook  her  head  a  little  sadly,  for  she  feared  that 
there  were  pressing  memories  underneath  that  playful  tone. 

"  What  a  flying  visit  I  made  you  last  winter,"  Mr.  Russell 
said,  after  a  pause.  "  It  was  Httle  better  than  none  at  all. 
Every  thing  looked  so  homelike  and  winsome,  that  I  felt  like 
settling  down  and  spending  the  rest  of  my  days  under  your 
wing — though  I  must  make  two  exceptions  to  that  'every 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIKIE   HOME.  237 

thing,'  I  believe.  How  are  my  kinswomen,  Mrs.  Rice  and 
her  daughter — what  is  her  name,  she  of  the  drab  hair  and 
melancholy  visage  ?  " 

"  Fie,  Robert !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  More.  "  Lucinda  would 
feel  very  badly  if  she  knew  that  you  could  speak  of  her  so, 
and  had  forgotten  her  name.  She  remembers  you  with  cous 
inly  interest." 

"  Does  she,  indeed  ?  "  said  Mr.  Russell.  "  Well,  my  re 
membrance  of  her  is  really  quite  vivid,  too,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  she  never  left  the  room  while  I  was  there,  not  giving  me 
one  moment  to  visit  with  you  alone,  and  hardly  took  her  pale- 
blue,  mournful  orbs  from  the  contemplation  of  my  poor  face. 
I  really  had  sensations  of  bashfulness  under  her  steady  gaze." 

"  Poor  Lucinda !  "  said  Mrs.  More,  gently  ;  "  she  is  good- 
natured,  and  really  has  some  fine  traits ;  but  she  has  been 
injudiciously  brought  up,  and  she  has  some  foolish  notions. 
She  undertook  to  teach  Chloe." 

"  Did  she  ?  "  said  Mr.  Russell,  laughing.  "  I'll  venture 
to  say  that  she  tried  to  teach  her  the  dead  languages  before 
she  knew  her  letters,  and  made  her  learn  long,  sentimental 
poems,  to  say  by  heart." 

"  I  do  not  know  how  she  managed,  quite,  but  I  thought  it 
was  well  to  bring  the  child  away  with  me  ;  and,  really,  she  is 
a  very  handy  little  girl,  and  waits  upon  me  very  nicely — 
when  there  is  nothing  to  distract  her  attention." 

"  Very  well  put  in,  I  should  say,  my  dear  Aunt,"  Mr. 
Russell  remarked. 

"  The  poor  thing  came  to  us  in  the  strangest  way,"  Mrs. 
More  went  on.  "  She  walked  into  Honora's  room  one  cold 
night  last  winter,  half  frozen  and  half  starved,  with  an  inco 
herent  story  of  long  wanderings  and  sufferings,  and  of  the 
happy  home  she  had  been  dragged  away  from.  She  never 
has  ceased  to  this  day  to  refer  every  now  and  then  to  a  kind 
lady  whom  she  calls  'Miss  Marg'et,'  and  loves  with  her 
whole  simple  soul.  I  never  attempted  to  find  out  where 
'  Miss  Marg'et '  lived,  and  restore  Chloe  to  her,  for  it  seemed 
useless ;  it  must  have  been  so  very  far  from  us,  from  her 


238  MARGARET  : 

accounts.  But  the  child  lives  in  the  hope  of  finding  hei 
'  Miss  Marg'et '  some  day.  You  can't  grieve  her  more  than 
by  suggesting  a  doubt  of  that." 

"  Poor  child !  she  has  had  quite  a  history,  hasn't  she  ?  " 

At  that  moment  a  door  opened  slowly  in  the  hall,  and 
shuffling,  irregular  steps  were  heard.  Presently  Chloe  ap 
peared,  twisting  her  tongue,  and  looking  very  shy. 

"  What  will  you  have,  Chloe  ?  Come  in,"  said  Mr.  Rus 
sell,  pleasantly. 

Chloe  came  inside  the  door,  and  edged  herself  into  the 
nearest  corner. 

"  Well,  Chloe,  what  is  it  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  More. 

"  Is  dat  ar  Massa  Russell  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  whisper,  nod 
ding  her  head  at  Mr.  Russell. 

"  Yes,  Chloe,  I  am  Mr.  Russell,"  he  said,  foreseeing  that 
his  aunt  was  about  to  send  her  away. 

"  Miss  'Cinder  tole  me  to  guv  um  dat  ar,"  she  said,  sidling 
up  to  him,  and  handing  him  a  little  package  tied  with  white 
satin  ribbon. 

"  Why,  Chloe,  what  is  that  ?  Are  you  sure  Miss  Lucinda 
gave  it  you  for  Mr.  Russell  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  More  in  surprise. 

"Yes  'IP,  she  did.  She  give  it  to  me  the  mornin'  we 
come  off,"  answered  Chloe,  while  her  eyes  furtively  admired 
the  bookcases  and  bright  hangings  of  the  room ;  "  an'  she 
tole  me  I  mus'  nebber  show  it  to  any  livin'  body  'ceptin' 
Massa  Russell,  an'  I  fetched  it  all  de  way  in  yer,"  thrusting 
her  hand  into  her  pocket,  "  an'  I  ain't  showed  it  to  nobody." 

"  Have  you  looked  at  it  yourself,  Chloe  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Russell,  examining  with  an  amused  air  the  soiled  appearance 
of  the  ribbon,  and  the  various  folds  of  the  wrapper. 

Chloe  hung  her  head  almost  to  her  knees,  and  found  great 
difficulty  in  making  any  answer ;  but  at  last  she  said,  "  'Specks 
I  did,  an'  dat's  de  trufe,"  and  darted  out  of  the  room. 

Mr.  Russell  and  Mrs.  More  laughed  heartily,  while 
with  a  great  assumption  of  care  and  curiosity,  Mr.  Russell 
opened  the  package,  which  was  found  to  contain  a  couple  ol 
verses,  mournfully  referring  to  their  too  brief  meeting  and 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  239 

sad  parting,  besides  a  very  elaborate  book-mark,  with  some 
mysterious  device  and  appropriate  inscription. 

When  Mrs.  More  had  seen  the  mark  and  read  the  verses, 
she  exclaimed,  "  Is  it  possible  !  Well,  I  never  dreamed  that 
even  poor  Lucinda  could  be  so  foolish." 

"  Perhaps  the  fair  Lucinda  would  listen  to  my  suit,"  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Russell.  "  You  didn't  think  of  her,  when  you 
said  there  was  nobody  good  enough  for  me  ;  did  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Robert,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  you  «could  be 
guilty  of  such  vanity.  Can't  you  receive  a  simple  expres 
sion  of  cousinly  regard  without  making  such  unbecoming 
speeches  ?  "  At  the  same  time,  she  could  not  help  feeling 
very  much  amused  to  think  that  Lucinda's  Lost  Love  was 
found. 

"  '  I  'specks  I  did,  an'  dat's  de  trufe,'  "  replied  Mr.  Rus 
sell,  as  he  sat  playing  with  the  book-mark.  "  Is  Chloe  gen 
erally  so  straightforward  ?  " 

"  She  is  very  truthful,"  replied  Mrs.  More.  "  I  have  not 
known  her  to  tell  an  untruth  since  she  came  to  me." 

"  That  is  quite  remarkable,"  said  Mr.  Russell.  "  I  sup 
pose  she  learned  it  from  '  Miss  Marg'et.'  " 

Mr.  More  came  late  in  the  evening,  having  been  detained 
down-town  by  business.  "  I  met  a  gentleman  on  the  street 
to-day,"  he  said,  in  the  course  of  conversation,  "  who  is 
anxious  to  see  you,  Robert — Mr.  Doane,  from  St.  Louis." 

"  Mr.  Doane  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember  him  well.  I  saw 
him  two  or  three  times  when  I  wras  in  St.  Louis  in  the  win 
ter,  and  liked  him  very  much." 

"  I  met  him  at  Clara's,  too,  before  her  husband  died,"  Mr. 
More  said. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  him  again,  and  know  him  better," 
said  Mr.  Russell.  "  I  will  call  on  him  to-morrow." 

"  I  told  him  I  thought  you  would,"  said  Mr.  More,  "  and 
he  gave  me  his  address  for  you." 

"  I  will  invite  him  here  to  dinner.  I  wish  to  make  it  as 
gay  for  Aunt  Clara  as  I  can,  so  that  she  will  not  be  in  a  hurry 
to  leave  me." 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Into  thy  dutiful  life  of  uses, 

Pour  the  music  and  weave  the  flowers ; 
With  the  song  of  birds  and  bloom  of  meadow 

Lighten  and  gladden  thy  heart  and  hours.  WHITTIEE. 

"  How  fresh  and  sparkling  every  thing  looks  this  morn 
ing  after  the  rain,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  turning  from  the  win 
dow  in  the  dining-room,  where  he  and  his  aunt  and  Philip 
Ventnor  lingered  after  breakfast. 

"Is  there  any  thing  in  that  little  square  enclosure  to  be 
refreshed  by  a  shower  ?  "  asked  Philip,  looking  out.  "  Yes, 
there's  one  small  tree  and  a  grape-vine." 

"Besides  grass,  and  Janet's  lady-slippers  and  rose 
bushes,"  added  Mr.  Russell.  "  You  ought  not  to  despise 
small  things,  Philip.  I  don't  believe  Aunt  Clara  would 
scorn  our  poor  bits  of  nature,  though  she  is  used  to  looking 
out  upon  the  prairies." 

"  I  shouldn't  scorn  a  patch  of  grass,  however  small,  and 
I  don't  think  Mr.  Ventnor  would  either.  But  I  am  afraid  I 
should  feel  pent-up  and  stifled  to  live  in  the  city." 

"  Such  a  pleasant  plan  has  just  occurred  to  me !  "  ex 
claimed  Mr.  Russell.  "  Philip,  are  you  sure  you  must  go 
home  to-day  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  I  must ;  the  family  will  expect  me." 

"Aunt  Clara,  do  you  feel  very  strong  indeed — strong 
enough  to  take  a  long  drive  into  the  country  ?-" 

"  I  think  I  do.  You  know  I  ride  a  great  deal  at  home,  so 
that  it  does  not  tire  me  as  it  would  most  persons  of  my  age." 

"  Well,  I  have  some  very  particular  friends  who  live 
about  fifteen  miles  from  here,  up  the  river.  I  have  been 
waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  pay  them  a  visit ;  and  to-day 
strikes  me  as  the  very  one  of  all  others.  It  is  not  too  warm, 
the  dust  is  laid,  and  the  country  is  in  its  glory.  Philip,  we'll 


A   8TOEY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE   HOME.  241 

drop  you  at  your  grandfather's  gate,  if  you  like  a  drive  and 
our  company  better  than  the  railroad." 

"  Let  Mrs.  More  rest  at  my  grandfather's,"  said  Philip, 
eagerly.  "  My  mother  and  grandmother  would  be  delighted 
to  see  you  both." 

"  I  think  it  will  not  be  possible,  Philip.  My  friends  are 
only  a  few  miles  farther  on,  and  we  should  hardly  have  time 
to  rest  twice,  and  reach  home  before  dark." 

"  My  dear,  you  forget  that  your  St.  Louis  friend  is  to 
dine  with  you  to-day,"  said  Mrs.  More. 

"  Not  to-day,  Aunt  Clara ;  I  invited  him  for  to-morrow." 

In  the  course  of  an  hour  the  carriage  was  at  the  door. 

"  Chloe,  run  and  tell  Janet  that  we  are  waiting  for  her," 
said  Mr.  Russell,  when  his  aunt  and  Philip  were  seated. 

Chloe  dashed  into  the  house,  and  returned  a  moment 
after,  carrying  a  basket,  followed  by  Janet  with  a  pail  and 
another  basket. 

"  Hello,"  said  Philip,  "  it's  to  be  a  picnic,  is  it,  and  I'm  to 
be  left  at  my  grandfather's  gate  ! " 

"  It  isn't  a  picnic — it's  a  visit,"  replied  Mr.  Russell,  "  and 
you  can't  go.  Please  to  sit  on  the  back  seat,  beside  my  aunt. 
I  want  to  sit  opposite,  where  I  can  look  at  her  all  the  time. 
There  !  I  believe  we  are  all  ready.  Why,  where  is  Janet 
going?" 

"  To  give  her  parting  blessing  to  Chloe,  I  fancy,"  said 
Philip. 

Janet  took  Chloe's  unwilling  hand,  led  her  up  the  steps, 
and  put  her  into  the  house.  When  she  had  done  that,  and 
shut  the  door  emphatically  upon  her,  she  hurried  back  to  her 
place  beside  the  coachman,  saying, "  I  humbly  beg  your  par 
don,  Mr.  Robert,  but  I  couldn't  leave  that  child  on  the  side 
walk,  an'  the  house-door  open. 

"  Poor  Chloe  ! "  said  Mrs.  More,  deprecatingly ;  "  she 
doesn't  mean  to  be  troublesome,  but  she  certainly  is,  and  I 
may  take  the  blame  to  myself  for  bringing  her  from  home." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  bringing  her,"  said 
Mr.  Russell ;  "  there  she  is  now — her  head,  at  least,  thrust 
11 


242  MAEGAEET  : 

out  of  the  door,  to  take  a  farewell  look  at  us.  What  a  com 
ical  head  it  is  !  She  is  out  upon  the  steps  now,  and  is  danc 
ing  a  jig.  What  would  Janet  say  if  she  could  see  her  ?  She 
would  consider  the  Russell  family  irremediably  disgraced." 

"  Why  do  you  take  Janet  and  pails  and  baskets  with 
you,  Robert  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  More. 

"  You  know  your  own  arrangements  best,  I  suppose,"  she 
added,  after  looking  for  a  moment  into  his  smiling  face ;  "I 
only  hope  Chloe  will  not  get  into  mischief." 

"  Martha  will  look  after  her,"  Mr.  Russell  replied  ;  "  my 
anxiety  is,  lest  you  should  be  tired  before  we  get  out  of  the 
city.  I  wish  we  could  annihilate  these  three  or  four  miles 
of  pavement,  for  your  sake." 

"  My  mind  may  grow  weary  with  trying  to  make  this 
wonderful  reality  seem  like  any  thing  but  a  dream.  That 
is  all.  Why,  my  dear,  when  your  uncle  and  I  were  married, 
and  took  a  house  a  mile  from  the  Battery,  where  your  grand 
father  lived,  we  thought  we  were  going  quite  out  of  town. 
And  when  your  father  wrote  us,  after  we  went  West,  that  he 
was  going  to  build  still  further  up,  we  were  sure  he  had 
made  a  mistake,  and  would  regret  it.  Now  to  think  that 
his  house  is  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  with  miles  and  miles  of 
houses  beyond  it !  I  can  hardly  credit  my  senses." 

"  I  think  you  must  feel  very  much  as  the  king  in  the  fairy 
tale  did,  who  woke  one  morning  to  find  a  grand  palace,  where 
there  had  been  an  open  space  the  night  before,"  Philip  said. 

"  It  does  seem  like  magic,"  Mrs.  More  replied.  "  New 
York  is  a  wonderful  place,  a  very  rich  and  gay  place,  but  I 
cannot  believe  people  enjoy  themselves  any  more  than  they 
did  in  the  good  old  times  when  I  was  a  girl." 

*;  Aunt  Clara,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  "  did  you  ever  hear  of 
an  exploit  of  mine,  that  came  very  near  being  the  end  of 
John  and  me,  when  we  were  boys  ?  " 

"  Never,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  More. 

"  We  were  spending  the  day  at  grandfather's,  and  were 
sent  out  to  play  under  the  care  of  the  nurse,  with  many 
charges  to  behave  ourselves ;  notwithstanding  which,  Jack 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PEAIEIE   HOME.  243 

and  I  got  into  a  discussion  as  to  our  respective  rights  to  some 
plaything,  and  as  ray  fiery,  rash  temper  reached  its  height 
just  as  we  came  to  the  water's  edge,  I  gave  Jack  a  push  that 
Bent  him  oft'  the  pier." 

"  Oh,  Robert !  I  can  hardly  believe  it,"  cried  Mrs.  More. 

"  It  is  true,  my  dear  aunt.  In  a  twinkling  I  had  jumped 
in  after  him,  and  a  man,  who  happened  to  be  close  by,  fol 
lowed,  and  saved  us  both." 

"  What  must  your  poor  mother  and  grandmother  have 
felt  when  you  were  carried  home,"  Mrs.  More  exclaimed. 

"  We  were  not  taken  home  pale  and  dripping,  as  you 
might  suppose,  for  the  brave  man  who  rescued  us  took  us 
to  his  house,  which  was  near  by,  and  we  were  put  to  bed 
while  our  clothes  were  dried.  I  believe  neither  of  us  felt 
any  bad  effects  from  our  cold  bath." 

"  I  wonder  if  any  boy  ever  grew  up  without  just  escaping 
the  doing  of  some  deed  that  would  have  clouded  his  whole 
life  ?  "  said  Philip. 

"  Boys  will  be  boys,"  said  Mrs.  More.  "  None  were  ever 
more  wild  and  mischievous  than  mine ;  yet  I  have  no  cause 
to  complain  of  them  now." 

"  I  should  think  not,  Aunt  Clara ! "  said  Mr.  Russell, 
smiling  at  the  sweet  complacency  of  her  expression. 

"  Or  of  my  nephews  either,  Robert,"  she  added,  "  if  one 
of  them  did  nearly  drown  his  brother  and  himself  too." 

It  was  about  noon  when  they  stopped  at  Mr.  Tapscott's 
to  leave  Philip. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  vain  for  me  to  urge  you  to  come  in,"  ho 
said.  "  I  feel  very  downcast  at  being  so  peremptorily  dis 
pensed  with,  and  very  envious." 

"  Console  yourself  by  coming  to  us  in  town  very  soon, 
Philip." 

"  Yes,  do  so,  Mr.  Ventnor,"  said  Mrs.  More.  "  I  should 
be  sorry  not  to  see  you  again,  and  my  visit  is  not  to  be  a  long 
one,  you  know." 

Philip  expressed  his  thanks;  and  as  they  drove  on,  Mrs. 
More  said,  "  Why  did  you  not  let  Mr.  Ventnor  come,  my 


244  MAEGAKET  ! 

dear  ?  Are  you  not  well  enough  acquainted  to  take  two 
strangers,  as  well  as  one  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  a  welcome  for  you,  and  indeed  for  any 
friend,  but  I  don't  like  to  presume  too  much.  I  may  take 
Philip  some  other  time.  Did  you  ever  know  any  thing 
lovelier  than  this  day  and  this  scenery — the  air  so  soft  and 
full  of  sweet  sounds,  the  woods  so  fresh  and  green,  the  river 
so  sparkling  ?  Then  look  at  those  blue  hills  away  to  the 
north,  and  the  Palisades,  so  bold  and  dark  in  the  midst  of 
so  much  brightness.  I  sometimes  think  I  should  like  to  buy 
or  build  a  little  house  somewhere  on  this  river — " 

"  What,  and  give  up  the  old  home,  Robert  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shall  keep  that  always.  But  I  should  like  some 
place  where  I  could  come,  summer  or  winter,  whenever  I  felt 
like  taking  '  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  Nature,'  as  the  pensive 
Lucinda  expresses  it  in  her  poem." 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  enough  of  a  recluse  now,  Robert, 
without  possessing  a  hermitage  in  the  country." 

Just  on  the  outskirts  of  one  of  the  pretty  villages,  a  little 
back  from  the  main  road,  the  carriage  stopped. 

"  Is  this  the  place,  Robert  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  More,  looking 
with  some  surprise  at  the  small  cottage,  with  a  little  garden 
behind  and  a  little  yard  in  front. 

"Yes,  this  is  the  place.  That  large  tree  shades  you 
nicely — I  will  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  while  I  go  and  announce 
you  and  myself." 

A  little  girl,  nearly  hidden  in  a  calico  sun-bonnet,  sat  on 
the  doorstep,  with  a  sleepy-looking  dog  in  her  arms,  which 
she  had  arrayed  in  one  of  her  own  dresses,  and  whose  head 
and  paws  and  tail  alone  were  visible. 

"  Little  Mary,  how  do  you  do,  and  how  is  Ponto  to-day  ?  " 
asked  Mr.  Russell,  as  he  opened  the  gate. 

The  child  threw  back  her  sun-bonnet,  disclosing  a  face  all 
crimson,  and  curls  dampened  with  the  exertion  of  managing 
her  clumsy  plaything.  When  she  saw  Mr.  Russell,  she  pushed 
Ponto  off  her  lap,  and  running  with  her  arms  outstretched, 
threw  them  around  his  neck  as  he  stooped  to  receive  her. 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  245 

"  How  is  your  mother,  little  one  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  She  is  velly  well.  She's  teaching  school  to  the  little 
child'ens." 

"And  where  is  Paul?" 

"  He's  s'ovelling  dirt  in  the  garden.  I  will  go  yight  and 
tell  him  you  is  come." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  Mr.  Russell  said,  taking  her  hand ; 
but  she  espied  poor  Ponto  making  frantic  efforts  to  disrobe 
himself,  and  gathering  him  and  his  draperies  up  in  her  arms, 
she  trudged  along  by  Mr.  Russell's  side,  prattling  to  him 
very  busily. 

"  Paul,  Paul,  here's  Mr.  Yussell,"  she  cried  as  soon  as  she 
saw  her  brother. 

Paul  was  energetically  hoeing  corn,  but  he  quickly  drop 
ped  his  hoe,  and  his  hands  were  clasped  in  Mr.  Russell's, 
while  yet  the  exclamation  of  joyful  surprise  was  on  his  lips. 

"  I  never  was  so  glad  in  my  life,"  he  said  fervently. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  youjooking  so  well,  my  dear  boy. 
Hoeing  corn  agrees  with  you,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"Every  thing  agrees  with  me  here.  I  am  well  and 
strong,  and  as  happy  as  I  can  be.  I  feel  as  if  I  am  living  a 
week  in  a  day,  I  have  so  much  to  enjoy;  and  mother  and  the 
children  are  so  well  too.  But  come  in,  Mr.  Russell,  and  let 
them  see  you." 

"  I  will  go  and  tell  them  you  is  come,"  said  little  Mary, 
trudging  away  with  her  dog. 

"  You  are  an  accomplished  gardener,  Paul,  if  this  is  all 
your  work,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  looking  over  the  nice,  even 
beds,  where  the  green  heads  of  various  vegetables  stood  in 
regular  rows,  with  not  a  weed  among  them. 

"  I  did  most  of  it,  though  Edith  and  Angelica  helped. 
As  soon  as  I  was  well  enough  I  made  the  beds  and  we  put 
in  the  seeds.  You  never  saw  any  thing  grow  so  fast  as  they 
do.  We  have  had  lettuce  and  radishes  already." 

"lias  it  been  very  hard  for  you  to  keep  from  painting, 
Paul?" 

"I  have  longed  for  it  sometimes,  but  I  was  willing  to 


246  MARGARET  : 

wait,  after  all,  for  I  knew  it  was  better  that  I  should.  But 
don't  you  think  that  I  may  begin  your  picture  soon  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  may ;  you  look  very  well,  though  your 
cheeks  are  rather  too  thin  yet.  Well,  Angelica  and  Edith ! 
why,  what  blooming  little  maidens  you  have  grown  to  be," 
he  said,  as  the  two  children  came  flying  out  of  the  house  to 
meet  him,  followed  by  Mrs.  Sarelli,  while  some  dozen  eyes 
peered  out  through  the  blinds  at  the  visitor. 

"  I  have  brought  my  aunt  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Sarelli,"  Mr. 
Russell  said,  as  they  walked  towards  the  front  of  the  house. 
"  I  knew  you  would  all  love  her  at  first  sight,  and  therefore 
felt  no  hesitation  about  bringing  her  with  me." 

"  Mrs.  Sarelli  assured  him  of  the  gratification  it  was  to 
her  to  receive  any  friend  of  his,  and  Mr.  Russell  led  the  way 
to  the  carriage,  where  his  aunt  awaited  them ;  and  by  the 
time  they  were  seated  in  the  little  parlor,  and  Angelica  had 
laid  away  Mrs.  More's  hat  and  shawl,  the  children  had  for 
gotten  that  she  was  a  stranger,  and  Mrs.  Sarelli  felt  free  to 
excuse  herself  and  return  to  her  schoolroom  for  another 
hour. 

"My  aunt  will  spend  that  time  in  lying  down  and  get 
ting  rested  for  her  visit  and  her  drive  home,"  Mr.  Russell 
said. 

In  a  few  minutes  Angelica  came  Avith  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
dainty  bit  of  bread  and  butter  for  Mrs.  More,  and  then 
showed  her  to  Mrs.  Sarelli's  bedroom,  a  mere  atom  of  a 
room,  but  pretty  and  tasteful,  with  its  muslin  curtains,  snowy 
bed,  and  home-made  toilet-stand. 

In  the  meantime,  while  Mr.  Russell  and  Paul  sat  on  the 
doorstep,  with  little  Mary  playing  at  their  feet,  Janet  took 
her  baskets  to  the  kitchen ;  and  by  the  time  school  was  over, 
leaving  Mrs.  Sarelli  at  liberty,  and  Mrs.  More  had  risen,  re- 
fi-eshed  by  her  nap,  a  most  tempting  lunch  was  ready,  of 
strawberries  and  cream,  bread  and  butter,  cold  meats  and 
other  good  things,  and  all  were  summoned  to  enjoy  it. 

Afterwards,  there  was  time  for  a  walk  to  the  hill  near  by, 
from  which  Paul's  picture  for  Mr.  Russell  was  to  be  painted, 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PEAIBIE    HOME.  247 

and  then  Mrs.  More  and  Mr.  Russell  bade  their  friends  good 
by. 

"  What  a  lovely  family,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  More,  as  the 
group  at  the  gate  were  hidden  from  view  by  the  trees.  "  Mrs. 
Sarelli  is  one  of  the  sweetest  women  I  have  ever  met,  and 
every  one  of  the  children  is  really  beautiful.  But  where  did 
you  become  acquainted  with  them,  Robert  ?  You  seem  to 
have  known  them  a  long  time." 

"  Only  since  I  came  home  from  China,  Aunt  Clara.  But 
they  lived  in  the  city  until  within  two  or  three  months,  you 
know.  I  saw  them  quite  often  there." 

"  I  gathered  from  your  conversation  with  Paul  that  he  is 
going  to  be  an  artist." 

"  Yes,  he  will  be  an  artist,  and  an  eminent  one,  if  he 
lives.  He  was  so  ill  last  winter  that  I  feared  he  would 
never  paint  again  ;  but  he  seems  quite  well  now,  and  I  think, 
with  care,  he  may  entirely  outgrow  his  predisposition  to 
consiimption.  His  father  was  an  artist,  and  taught  him  all 
he  knows  of  painting ;  but  he  has  genius  that  must  be  de 
veloped,  and  as  soon  as  he  is  strong  enough,  he  must  study 
with  some  first-rate  master — perhaps  go  to  Italy,  in  time." 

"Has  Mrs.  Sarelli  any  property,  or  is  she  entirely  de 
pendent  upon  her  school  ?  I  should  think  that  would  hardly 
support  them." 

"  She  owns  the  house,  and  her  school  pays  very  well ; 
Paul's  pictures,  too,  will  sell  readily,  and  bring  good  prices, 
when  he  begins  to  paint." 

"I  have  enjoyed  this  day  very  much,  Robert.  I  would 
not  have  missed  it  for  a  great  deal."" 

The  carriage  was  barely  out  of  sight  in  the  morning, 
when  Martha,  the  housemaid,  who  had  been  charged  by 
Janet  to  keep  a  sharp  eye  upon  Chloe,  found  her  dancing  on 
the  door-steps.  Calling  her  in,  she  administered  a  rebuke 
as  much  after  the  manner  of  the  grave  Janet  as  possible,  and 
taking  her  into  the  kitchen,  set  her  at  such  little  tasks  as  she 
considered  her  capable  of.  When  she  had  finished  her  own 
labors  in  that  department,  she  armed  herself  with  broom 


248  MAKGAKET I 

and  dusters,  and  said  patronizingly  to  Chloe,  "Now  you 
may  come  along  with  me,  an'  see  me  sweep  an'  dust,  an' 
that's  all  you  can  do.  It  takes  experience  to  do  up  such 
rooms  as  them." 

Chloe  looked  on  while  Martha  covered  the  furniture  in 
the  library,  listening  in  mute  admiration  while  she  enlivened 
her  work  with  repetitions  of  Janet's  tales  of  the  grand  do 
ings  there  used  to  be  in  that  house. 

"Now,  Cbloe,"  said  Martha,  when  the  library  was  in 
order,  "  stay  right  where  you  are,  an'  don't  presume  to  come 
acrost  the  floor  an'  look  in  here  where  I'm  agoin'.  It's  Mr. 
Russell's  privit  sittin'-room,  an'  nobody  is  privileged  to  come 
into't  but  me  an'  Janet.  Now,  mind,  don't  you  come  anigh 
the  door." 

Chloe  had  great  ado  to  keep  her  feet  from  walking 
straight  into  the  forbidden  room.  She  could  only  restrain 
them  at  the  last  by  sitting  down  on  the  floor,  and  holding 
herself  back  by  the  leg  of  the  table. 

"  My  sakes  alive,  Chloe !  "  cried  Martha,  when  she  ap 
peared  with  her  duster,  "  let  loose  of  that  leg.  You'll  get  it 
full  of  finger-marks.  Come  right  out  of  this  room,  before 
you  spile  every  thing  there  is  in  it ;  "  and  she  hastily  caught 
her  broom  and  Chloe's  hand,  and  departed  to  the  kitchen. 
In  all  probability,  nothing  out  of  the  common  course  of 
things  would  have  occurred,  but  for  the  fact  that  Martha, 
having  occasion  to  go  to  the  street-door  late  in  the  afternoon, 
espied  an  acquaintance  passing,  and  notwithstanding  her  care 
ful  training  by  the  severely  unsocial  Janet,  she  so  far  forgot 
herself  as  to  invite  her  friend  into  the  house.  In  the  gossip 
that  followed,  Chloe  was  shut  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  wholly 
forgotten. 

It  did  not  take  her  long  to  appreciate  this  happy  state  of 
things,  and  it  was  natural  enough  that  she  should  wish  to 
improve  it,  which  she  did  by  instituting  a  little  exploring 
expedition,  and  that  without  loss  of  time,  knowing  that  her 
liberty  was  liable  to  be  cut  short  at  any  moment. 

She  went  first  to  the  great,  darkened  drawing-room,  and 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  249 

took  a  few  turns  before  the  long  mirror.  This,  under  other 
circumstances,  would  have  been  unspeakably  entertaining,  as 
she  had  had  few  opportunities  to  view  herself  at  full  length, 
and  to  observe  the  effect  of  her  characteristic  evolutions. 
But  now  it  had  only  power  to  detain  her  for  two  or  three 
minutes  ;  and  having  softly  shut  the  heavy  mahogany  door, 
she  as  softly  entered  the  library.  She  made  the  circuit  of 
the  room,  carefully  inspecting  every  thing,  as  if  each^articu- 
lar  article  of  furniture  was  the  greatest  curiosity  she  had 
ever  seen,  or  ever  hoped  to  see,  until  she  came  to  the  door 
leading  to  the  mysterious  place  where  all  her  longings  cen 
tered. 

"  Whar  does  dis  yer  go  to  ?  "  she  said  to  herself  with  an 
air  of  surprise.  "  I'se  jes'  gwine  to  open  it,  and  peek  in :  I 
ain't  gwine  in,  an'  dat's  de  trufe." 

Contrary  to  her  declared  intentions,  she  did  go  in,  and, 
somehow,  the  door  closed  behind  her ;  and  after  a  general 
survey,  she  proceeded  to  examine  each  thing  separately. 

"  Oh,  laus  !  ain't  dis  yer  beaut'ful ! "  she  exclaimed,  under 
her  breath. 

It  was  an  old-fashioned  desk,  of  some  dark  wood,  elabo 
rately  carved  and  inlaid ;  it  was  openj  too,  showing  the 
purple  velvet  Avith  which  the  Avriting-table  was  lined. 

"  If  dat  ar  ain't  mos'  beaut'ful !  "  she  repeated ;  and  her 
courage  Avaxing  with  her  admiration,  she  speedily  mounted  a 
chair,  and  after  twisting  the  key  in  the  door  of  the  upright 
part  for  some  time,  she  succeeded  in  turning  it.  An  array 
of  little  drawers  and  shelves  met  her  eyes  that  nearly  set  her 
Avild  with  delight.  She  peered  into  the  drawers  one  after 
the  other,  but  found  nothing  that  irresistibly  attracted  her  fin 
gers,  until  she  opened  one  which  contained,  besides  some 
dried  leaves  and  faded  flowers,  a  little  box.  Should  she 
touch  the  box  ?  Yes,  she  should,  and  she  did,  and  looked  at 
the  contents — a  A'elvet  locket — her  eyes  growing  bi.sr^er  and 
bigger  as  she  gazed.  In  a  moment  her  eager  fingers  seized 
the  locket,  and,  without  taking  her  eyes  from  it,  she  dropped 
the  box,  got  slowly  down  from  the  chair,  and  seating  herself 


250  MAKGARET  ! 

upon  the  floor,  rocked  back  and  forth,  too  absorbed  to  heal 
Martha's  anxious  call,  or  the  ringing  of  the  bell,  or  voices 
in  the  hall,  and  there  she  sat  when  Mr.  Russell  entered. 

His  first  feeling  was  one  of  amusement,  to  see  that  queer 
little  object  sitting  on  the  floor,  and  the  bewildered  look  with 
which  she  scrambled  to  her  feet ;  but  the  next  was  one  of 
extreme  vexation,  as  his  eye  fell  on  the  open  desk  and  the 
open  drawer. 

"  Chloe,"  he  exclaimed  sternly,  "  what  have  you  been 
doing  ?  " 

Chloe  could  only  hang  her  head,  too  much  abashed  to 
speak,  or  look  up  or  move,  only  that  she  still  fumbled  for  her 
pocket  with  her  right  hand,  and  Mr.  Russell  saw  that  she  had 
something  in  it. 

"  Chloe,  come  here,  and  give  me  whatever  you  have  taken 
from  my  desk." 

Then  Chloe  began  to  cry  piteously,  exclaiming,  between 
her  sobs,  "  Oh,  don't  take  it  away !  please  don't  take  it 
away !  " 

"  Chloe,  stop  crying  instantly,  and  show  me  what  you 
have  in  your  hand." 

Chloe,  awed  by  the  stern  command,  slowly  and  reluc 
tantly  extended  the  locket  towards  Mr.  Russell ;  but  when 
her  eyes  rested  upon  it  again,  she  renewed  her  sobs  and 
entreaties,  adding,  "  Dat  ar's  my  Miss  Marg'et,  it  are.  Oh, 
Massa  Russell,  please  to  gimme  it !  It's  Miss  Marg'et,  an' 
I  want  it  awful  bad." 

She  sobbed  on  unheeded  for  some  minutes,  her  hand  still 
extended. 

"  Chloe,"  he  said  at  length — and  his  voice  was  so  strange 
that  Chloe  took  her  dress  from  her  eyes  to  look  at  him — 
"  that  cannot  be  your  '  Miss  Marg'et.'  Give  me  the  picture." 

"  It  are — it  are  Miss  Marg'et ;  I  know  it  are,"  she  cried, 
closing  her  hand  again  over  the  locket,  and  putting  it  behind 
her. 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  Mr.  Russell  said,  "  Lay 
the  picture  upon  the  table,  Chloe,  and  leave  the  room." 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PEAIRIE   HOME.  251 

The  voice  was  kind,  but  Chloe  did  as  she  was  told. 

When  Mr.  Russell  appeared  at  dinner,  his  aunt,  who  had 
heard  a  confused  account  of  what  had  happened  from  Chloe, 
looked  at  him  anxiously ;  but  he  appeared  much  as  usual,  and 
her  loving  eyes  could  detect  no  sign  of  pain.  In  the  evening 
he  told  her  quietly  of  the  discovery  Chloe  had  made,  add 
ing,  "I  know  that  Mr.  Crosby's  family  are  at  the  West 
somewhere,  and  it  is  not  at  all  improbable  that  Chloe's  *  Miss 
Marg'et '  and  Miss  Margaret  Crosby  are  identical.  Indeed, 
every  thing  I  have  heard  of '  Miss  Marg'et '  helps  to  convince 
me  of  it."  There  was  a  long  silence,  and  then  Mrs.  More, 
who  yearned  to  know  what  was  in  the  sealed  heart  beside 
her,  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "  Robert,  tell  me :  if  Chloe 
could  direct  you  to  her  '-Miss  Marg'et,'  and  you  knew  that  it 
was  your  Margaret,  would  you  go  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  Margaret,  except  in  dreams,  Aunt  Clara.  I 
should  have  no  right  to  go  to  her,  if  she  were  ever  so  near. 
I  ought  to  be  thankful  that  I  do  not  know  where  she  is." 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  More  said  to  Chloe,  before  going 
down-stairs,  "  Chloe,  there  are  two  things  that  you  must  re 
member  while  you  are  here.  One  is,  that  you  are  not  to  go 
near  the  room  where  you  went  last  night ;  and  the  other  is, 
that  you  must  not  ask  for  the  picture,  or  even  speak  of  it  to 
any  body.  I  should  be  very  much  displeased  with  you  if 
you  did." 

"  I  want  to  see  dat  ar  ag'in,  anyhow,"  Chloe  said,  nearly 
crying. 

"  Of  course  it  is  out  of  the  question,  child.  It  belongs 
to  Mr.  Russell,  and  you  must  not  ask  for  it,  and  had  better 
not  think  about  it  any  more." 

Not  to  think  about  it  was  nn  impossibility ;  and  not  to 
wish  that  she  had  taken  it  a\vay  the  moment  she  found  it, 
and  had  it  safely  tied  around  her  neck  under  her  dress,  was 
beyond  her  power ;  and  it  was  almost  more  than  she  could 
do  to  keep  from  dropping  on  her  knees  whenever  she  saw 
Mr.  Russell  that  day,  and  begging  him  to  give  her  'Miss 
Marg'et.'  At  times  she  was  possessed  with  a  sense  of  the 


252  MAKGAEET  : 

injustice  of  any  body's  claiming  that  picture,  and  keeping  it 
from  her,  when  she  could  almost  have  braved  every  thing, 
and  gone  straight  to  the  forbidden  room  to  seize  the  coveted 
treasure. 

Her  thoughts  were  diverted,  and  her  curiosity  was  put 
upon  the  alert  by  the  solemn  charge  she  received  from  Janet, 
as  the  dinner  was  about  to  be  sent  up,  to  stay  down-stairs, 
and  keep  perfectly  quiet.  She  had  been  remarkably  quiet  all 
day,  and,  if  left  to  herself,  it  would  probably  have  never 
entered  her  head  to  forsake  the  corner  where  she  had  been 
sitting  for  an  hour  watching  the  preparations  for  dinner. 

But  Janet's  injunction  put  every  thought  to  flight  but  the 
one :  how  could  she  escape  unobserved  from  the  kitchen,  and 
how  could  she  get  up-stairs  to  see  what  was  going  on  ? 

A  little  skilful  management  soon  effected  the  first,  and  a 
little  more  hid  her  safely  behind  the  door  of  the  butler's  pan 
try,  where  she  had  the  intense  satisfaction  of  seeing,  through 
the  crack,  Mrs.  More,  Mr.  Russell,  and  Mr.  Doane,  seated  at 
dinner,  and  Reuben,  arrayed  in  broadcloth  and  white  gloves, 
waiting  upon  them.  But  she  soon  grew  tired  of  watching 
the  progress  of  other  people's  dinner,  and  there  was  nothing 
especially  entertaining  to  her  in  the  conversation.  It  was  a 
little  exciting  at  first  to  be  in  a  safe  place,  and  see  the  staid 
Reuben  pass  so  close  to  it,  as  he  went  to  and  fro ;  but  even 
that  became  an  old  story,  and  wondering  if  she  should  get 
out  as  safely  as  she  got  in,  her  eyes  fell  on  so  much  that 
called  for  inspection  on  the  shelves,  that  she  forgot  the  need 
of  keeping  out  of  sight,  and  was  presently  reminded  of  it  by 
a  gentle  but  admonitory  "  Chloe !  "  from  the  dining-room. 
With  one  glance  at  the  three  faces  turned  towards  her,  she 
darted  out  of  the  pantry  and  down-stairs  into  the  front  base 
ment,  where  Janet  found  her,  a  few  minutes  after,  having  but 
just  missed  her  from  the  kitchen.  As  she  was  innocently 
looking  from  the  window,  and  as  Reuben  did  not  take  tho 
trouble  to  mention  her  exploit  in  the  pantry,  she  escaped  the 
c-colding  she  had  anticipated  down-stairs  ;  and  she  knew  that 
Mrs.  More's  reproof  would  be  gentle.  Her  unexpected 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIKIE    HOME.  253 

safety  had  a  very  exhilarating  effect  upon  her  spirits,  and 
prepared  her  to  accept  any  further  diversion  that  offered, 
without  hesitation. 

When  her  dinner  was  eaten,  she  returned  to  the  window 
to  watch  the  children  playing  in  the  street,  and  presently  a 
man  with  a  hand-organ  and  a  girl  with  a  tambourine  stopped 
before  the  house.  The  fact  that  Janet  had  forbidden  her  to 
go  out  upon  the  sidewalk  may  have  added  zest  to  her  desire 
to  get  there  as  soon  as  possible ;  it  certainly  did  not  deter 
her  for  an  instant.  The  suppressed  energies  of  many  days 
were  speedily  finding  vent  in  a  wild,  fantastic  plantation- 
dance,  to  the  music  of  the  organ  and  the  tambourine,  and  no 
little  commotion  ensued,  as  all  the  children  gathered  around, 
jumping  and  shouting.  Mr.  Russell  went  to  the  window  to 
see  what  was  the  matter,  and  Mrs.  More  and  Mr.  Doane 
followed. 

"Oh,  Robert!  what  shall  I  do  with  the  child?"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  More,  amused,  and  yet  dismayed.  "I  shall 
have  to  keep  her  shut  up  the  rest  of  the  time  I  am  here." 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  her  having  a  dance,  Aunt  Clara,  and 
entertaining  those  children,  to  say  nothing  of  myself.  I 
never  saw  any  thing  funnier  in  my  life." 

Mr.  Doane  looked  on  for  a  moment,  then,  turning  to  Mrs. 
More,  said,  "  Did  you  call  her  Chloe  ?  I  think  you  did,  at 
the  table." 

"  Her  name  is  Chloe,"  she  replied.  "  She  is  a  good  child 
at  heart,  but  so  full  of  pranks  that  I  can  hardly  manage 
her.  If  I  had  known  that  she  would  develop  such  wild  pro 
pensities,  I  should  never  have  ventured  to  bring  her  from 
home." 

"  Then  she  has  not  lived  with  you  very  long  ?  " 

"  Only  since  last  winter,"  Mrs.  More  replied. 

"  Janet  has  come  to  disperse  the  children  and  the  music, 
and  Chloe's  fun  is  at  an  end,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  ringing  the 
bell ;  when  Martha  appeared,  he  told  her  to  send  Chloe  up. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  my  dear  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
More. 


254:  MAKGAKET I 

"Only  to  give  the  child  something  to  amuse  herself 
with ; "  and  he  went  into  the  dining-room,  taking  with  hira 
some  old  illustrated  magazines.  Mr.  Doane  looked  after  him 
with  a  curious  expression  in  his  bright  blue  eyes. 

"  Janet  is  rather  hard  on  Chloe,"  Mr.  Russell  said,  as  he 
came  back.  "  It  would  be  too  bad  to  spoil  her  dance  by 
punishing  her  for  it." 

Mr.  Doane  replied  rather  absently  to  some  remark  of  Mr. 
Russell's,  and  said  to  Mrs.  More,  "  Where  did  you  find 
Chloe,  Mrs.  More  ?  I  don't  wonder  that  you  look  surprised 
at  my  question,  but  the  truth  is,  I  have  heard  of  one  Chloe 
to  whose  description  this  Chloe  answers  so  perfectly,  that  I 
am  curious  to  know  if  they  are  not  one  and  the  same." 

Mrs.  More  glanced  at  Mr.  Russell,  but  replied,  "  Chloe 
came  to  my  house  last  winter  in  great  distress,  and  I  pitied 
her,  and  gave  her  a  home." 

"  Do  you  know  any  thing  of  her  previous  history  ? " 
asked  Mr.  Doane — "how  she  came  to  be  a  wanderer,  and 
where  she  had  lived  ?  " 

"  She  was  stolen,  I  believe,  and  ran  away  from  those  who 
stole  her ;  but  I  never  have  had  any  definite  idea  as  to  where 
her  home  was." 

"  Does  she  mention  no  names  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Doane. 

"  She  calls  her  mistress  '  Miss  Marg'et.' " 

The  blood  i-ushed  to  Mr.  Doane's  face,  but  he  said,  with 
an  effort,  "  I  am  sure  there  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  this  is 
the  Chloe  whose  story  I  heard  in  St.  Louis.  She  was  stolen 
by  a  man  and  woman  named  Simon  and  Nancy  Stubbs ;  was 
she  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  those  certainly  were  the  names  she  used  to  repeat 
in  such  terror — Simon  and  Nance." 

"  An  accidental  meeting  with  these  people  occasioned  my 
hearing  of  Chloe's  misfortunes.  I  wish  her  friends  knew  of 
her  safety  and  comfort." 

"  In  St.  Louis  did  you  hear  her  story,  Mr.  Doane  ?  "  Mrs. 
More  questioned. 

"  Yes,  in  St.  Louis     The  sister  of  Chloe's  mistress  is  the 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  255 

wife  of  my  cousin,  Dr.  Doane,  and  I  met  her  at  my  cousin's 
house." 

"Whom  did  your  cousin  marry?"  asked  Mrs.  More, 
the  question  coming  almost  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  He  married  Mrs.  Sinclair,  who  was  a  Miss  Crosby,"  Mr. 
Doane  answered.  "  Do  you  know  the  family,  Mrs.  More  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  "  I  do  not ; "  and  the  involuntary 
emphasis  she  gave  to  the  pronoun,  together  with  her  equally 
involuntary  glance,  carried  Mr.  Doane's  eyes  inquiringly  to 
Mr.  RusseU's  face. 

"I  kneAV  the  family  some  years  ago,  before  I  went  to 
China,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  in  answer  to  the  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Mr.  Crosby  is  dead,"  said  Mr.  Doane ;  "  he  died  soon 
after  my  cousin's  marriage." 

"  Does  Miss  Crosby  live  with  her  sister  now  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  More. 

"  She  spent  a  few  weeks  there  after  her  father's  death, 
but  she  has  returned  tiome.  I  believe  her  plans  for  the  future 
are  not  determined  upon." 

"  Is  her  home  near  St.  Louis  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  More. 

"  It  is  quite  a  distance  from  St.  Louis — nearer  to  a  little 
place  called  Jonesville,  I  believe,  than  any  other  town." 

"  Is  it  possible  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  More  ;  "  only  fifteen 
miles  from  my  home  1 " 


CHAPTER  XXH. 

And  what  is  this  place  not  seen, 
Where  hearts  may  hide  serene  ? 
"Tis  a  fair,  still  house  well  kept, 
Which  humble  thoughts  have  swept, 
And  holy  prayers  made  clean. 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

IT  was  a  warm,  still,  dreamy  afternoon  in  July.  The 
woods  skirting  the  prairies  were  veiled  in  a  light  blue  haze  ; 
the  breeze,  that  was  like  a  soft  whisper  from  the  blue  sky, 
just  stirred  the  leaves  and  quivered  in  the  grass ;  the  birds 
sung  sleepy  little  snatches  of  songs ;  the  hens  talked  in  a 
lazy  undertone  to  their  downy  families  as  they  hunted  for 
savory  bits ;  even  the  distant  noise  of  the  reaping  and 
mowing  machines,  and  the  call  of  the  men  to  their  teams, 
were  droning  sounds.  Under  the  trees  "in  front  of  the  farm 
house  stood  the  tea-table,  its  snowy  cover  gleaming  in  con 
trast  with  the  green  grass,  and  its  contents  looking  very 
inviting  while  in  the  kitchen  a  demure  little  figure  flitted 
about,  preparing  supper  for  the  men,  who  would  soon  be  in 
from  the  field,  and  the  tea-kettle's  drowsy  hum  was  in  tune 
with  the  rest. 

Margaret,  sitting  in  the  doorway,  felt  the  pleasant  languor 
of  the  scene,  and  let  her  eyes  wander  from  her  book  over  the 
sunny  fields  and  hazy  woods,  while  her  thoughts  followed 
their  own  sweet  will,  and  they  evidently  chose  the  bright 
paths  that  day,  as  there  was  no  hint  of  a  shadow  upon  the 
fair  face. 

The  days  had  passed  busily  and  quickly  since  Margaret's 
return  to  the  farm  ;  for,  while  she  had  felt  her  father's  death 
and  missed  her  cares  for  him  anew,  almost  as  a  fresh  be 
reavement,  she  was  able  to  put  aside  what  she  called  her 
selfish  grief,  and  devote  herself  to  the  improvement  and 
amusement  of  the  boys,  and  her  indoor  and  outdoor  duties, 
with  unfeigned  cheerfulness. 


A  STOKY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PKAIRIE   HOME.  257 

A  fresh  attack  of  rheumatism  had  made  Miss  Patty's 
sister  so  cross,  that  her  friend  forsook  her,  making  it  neces 
sary  for  Patty  to  go  home  as  soon  as  Margaret  returned. 
Bridget  continued  to  do  the  heavier  work,  while  for  the 
lighter  tasks  her  oldest  child,  little  Biddy,  proved  quite 
efficient ;  so  that  Margaret  had  the  greater  part  of  the 
morning  for  the  boys'  lessons,  and  the  afternoons  for  reading 
and  sewing.  She  seldom  saw  the  boys  from  dinner  till  tea- 
time,  for  the  harvest-field  proved  even  a  greater  attraction 
than  their  aunt's  society.  It  was  wonderful  how  well 
Jotham  obeyed  her  injunctions  to  keep  them  out  of  danger, 
and  still  more  wonderful  how  patiently  he  submitted  to  their 
determination  to  have  a  hand  in  every  thing  that  was  done, 
from  the  time  they  left  the  house  for  the  afternoon's  work 
till  they  came  in  at  night.  Their  ragged  straw  hats  and 
crimson  faces  were  as  much  a  feature  of  that  harvesting  as 
the  grass  and  the  grain.  Jotham  used  often  to  assure  them, 
that,  if  they  ever  were  obliged  to  work  as  hard  as  they  did  • 
then  for  the  fun  of  it,  they  would  think  it  "  mighty  dull 
business." 

Margaret,  in  her  solitude,  often  thought  of  some  of  the 
pleasant  features  of  her  visit  to  St.  Louis.  The  long,  quiet 
evenings,  when  the  boys,  tired  out  with  their  play,  had  gone 
to  bed,  and  she  had  not  even  the  diversion  of  diverting  them, 
oppressed  her  sometimes,  and  she  would  long  for  a  voice  to 
break  the  profound  stillness  within  and  without.  She  would 
sometimes  try  to  break  it  herself  by  a  bit  of  a  song,  but  it 
was  little  relief  to  hear  her  own  voice,  without  even  an  echo 
to  make  her  feel  less  solitary. 

Yet  she  was,  on  the  whole,  contented,  and  could  think  of 
living  on  in  this  quiet  way  with  less  shrinking  than  of  setting 
herself  adrift,  of  having  no  place  she  could  call  her  own — no 
niche  in  the  great  world  to  which  she  had  an  unquestioned, 
recognized  right. 

Dr.  Doane  had  strongly,  almost  sternly  at  the  last,  urged 
her  selling  the  farm  and  coming  to  live  with  them  in  the 
autumn ;  he  had,  at  parting,  assured  her  that  he  should  come 


258  MARGARET  I 

himself  to  see  that  it  was  done.  But  she  was  determined  to 
make  the  summer  as  pleasant  and  profitable  to  herself  and 
the  boys  as  possible,  leaving  the  future  to  take  care  of  itself; 
she  had  a  little  hope  that  Dr.  Doane  might  consent  to 
leave  the  children  with  her,  at  least  for  the  winter.  That 
would  make  the  way  clear  for  her  to  remain,  as  the  chief 
objection  was  her  loneliness. 

She  had  heard  from  the  travellers  twice,  and  each  time  it 
had  been  Dr.  Doane  who  wrote.  The  last  letter  mentioned 
a  change  in  their  plans.  Fanny  had  met  some  friends  who 
were  going  to  spend  the  rest  of  the  summer  at  Saratoga  and 
Newport,  and  she  had  decided  to  join  them.  Dr.  Doane 
was  to  return  home  after  spending  a  few  days  with  her  at 
the  Springs.  The  tone  of  the  letters  was  so  changed  from 
the  happy,  satisfied,  lover-like  letters  she  had  received  during 
the  spring,  that  she  felt  saddened,  and  hopeless  of  the  possi 
bility  of  any  thing  like  happiness  for  the  husband  and  wife. 

But  none  of  these  anxieties  entered  into  her  musings  on 
that  especial  July  day,  as  she  sat  in  the  doorway. 

"  The  things  is  all  ready  now,  Miss,"  Biddy  said,  coming 
around  from  the  kitchen,  and  kneeling  on  the  lower  step  in 
front  of  Margaret. 

"  Well,  Jotham  will  soon  be  up  from  the  field,  Biddy. 
Suppose  you  run  down  and  tell  George  and  Jack  that  tea  is 
ready ;  but  you  need  not  say  that  we  are  going  to  have  it 
under  the  trees.  We'll  surprise  them." 

Biddy  ran  away  to  deliver  her  message,  and  soon  after 
Dr.  Somers  drove  up  to  the  gate.  He  accosted  Margaret 
with,  "  I  thought  .there  was  something  to  pay,  when  I  saw 
that  dapper  young  man  from  St.  Louis  helping  you  from  the 
cars — giving  you  such  looks  out  of  his  eyes.  Pretty  doings, 
I  must  say !  " 

In  the  meantime  he  hunted  in  all  his  pockets,  and  by  the 
time  Margaret  was  beside  the  chaise  with  outstretched  hand 
and  smiling  face,  he  had  produced  a  letter,  which  he  held  at 
arm's-length,  with  a  grim  expression  of  countenance. 

"  A  man's  handwriting,  you  see,  and  post-marked  New 


A   STORY   OF  LIFE  IN  A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  259 

York !  I  don't  believe  I'll  give  it  to  you,  now ;  you  look  too 
pleased  about  it,  and  not  at  all  surprised.  If  you  have  dared 
to  take  a  decided  step  without  asking  leave  of  me  1  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  laughed  Margaret ;  "  I  haven't  dared,  and 
I  never  shall  dare." 

"  I  never  should  have  known  about  the  Skinner  affair  if 
he  hadn't  told  me  himself;  and  I  never  should  have  known 
that  you  corresponded  with  this  one,  if  I  hadn't  happened  to 
have  business  in  Jonesville  to-day." 

"  I  do  not  correspond  with  Mr.  Doane,"  exclaimed  Mar 
garet,  still  laughing  at  the  doctor's  fierce  airs. 

"  Looks  like  it,  doesn't  it  ?  I  shall  keep  a  sharp  lookout, 
my  young  lady,  and  see  what  comes  next.  I  suppose  it'll  be 
the  young  man  himself.  Will  you  promise  to  read  the  letter 
now  and  here,  if  I  let  you  have  it  ?  " 

"  If  I  didn't,  it  would  only  be  for  the  sake  of  showing 
that  1  am  not  to  be  domineered  over  to  such  an  unheard-of 
degree,"  answered  Margaret,  receiving  the  letter  and  break 
ing  the  seal. 

As  she  read  the  first  few  lines  her  face  glowed  with  de 
light,  and  she  exclaimed,  "  What  do  you  think,  Dr.  Somers  ? 
Chloe  is  in  New  York,  safe  and  happy."  Then  she  read  on, 
adding,  with  *  hearty  laugh,  "Mr.  Doane  saw  her  dancing  a 
jig  to  the  music  of  a  hand-organ  and  tambourine  before " 

"  Well,  before  what  ? "  asked  Dr.  Somers,  looking  curi 
ously  into  Margaret's  face,  which  had  flushed,  and  then 
grown  white  as  her  dress.  She  turned  quickly  away,  as  if 
to  escape  the  doctor's  scrutiny,  but  came  back  and  said, 
without  raising  her  eyes,  "  She  is  with  a  Mrs.  More,  and  Mr. 
Doane  saw  her  at  the  house  where  Mrs.  More  was  visiting." 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  that  the  poor  child's  troubles  are 
over,  and  glad  your  mind  is  set  at  ease  about  her,"  said  the 
doctor,  still  watching  Margaret's  face.  "  But  how  came  she 
in  New  York,  I  wonder?  I  suppose  that  man  and  woman, 
the  Stubbses,  took  her  there." 

"  No,  she  has  been  with  Mrs.  More  most  of  the  time  since  - 
she  left  us ;  she  took  her  to  New  York." 


260  MAEGAKET : 

"  Mrs.  More  ?  why,  it  must  be  Mrs.  More,  of  Moresville 
I  know  her  very  slightly.     I'll  take  you  to  see  her,  and  bring 
Chloe  home  any  day  you  like." 

"  No,  no,  I  would  not  go  there  for  the  world  ! "  exclaimed 
Margaret,  her  face  flushing  again  ;  then  she  added,  more 
quietly,  "  Mrs.  More  befriended  her  when  she  was  suffering, 
and  I  could  not  ask  her  to  give  her  back  to  me  now." 

"  But  you  might  ride  over  and  see  Chloe,  and  hear  what 
she  has  to  say  for  herself." 

"  I  cannot  go  to  Moresville,"  said  Margaret,  so  decidedly 
that  Dr.  Somers  said  no  more  about  it. 

"  What !  are  you  going  to  have  a  fete  champetre,  and  I 
not  invited  ! "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  espied  the  tea-table  under 
the  trees. 

"  The  children  and  I  are  going  to  have  one,"  answered 
Margaret ;  "  we'd  like  very  much  to  have  you  come  to  it,  if 
you  would." 

"  I  wish  I  could,  but  I  can't ;  I've  got  another  call  to 
make.  My  wife  will  expect  me  home  at  least  an  hour  before 
she  sees  me.  When  have  you  seen  Miss  Patty  ?  She  is  not 
at  all  well,  and  her  sister  is  intolerable." 

"  I  will  try  to  go  there  to-morrow,"  replied  Margaret ; 
and  Dr.  Somers  drove  away,  wondering  what  there  could 
have  been  in  the  letter,  to  move  Margaret  so  strangely,  and 
why  she  so  strongly  objected  to  calling  on  Mrs.  More.  v 

Margaret  had  no  time  to  think  over  the  strange  network 
of  circumstances  which  Mr.  Doane's  letter  unfolded,  for  the 
boys  came  racing  into  the  house  the  back  way,  noisily  de 
manding  some  salt ;  Jotham  had  said  they  might  salt  the 
sheep. 

"  We  will  have  tea  first,  my  dears,"  said  Margaret,  "  and 
then  I  will  go  with  you  to  the  sheep-lot." 

"  That'll  be  jolly ! "  cried  George ;  "  but  tea  ain't  ready," 
he  cried  again,  bursting  into  the  sitting-room;  "Biddy,  why 
don't  you  set  the  table  ?  " 

"  Georgie,  I  am  going  to  make  you  feel  a  little  ashamed 
of  your  hasty  conclusions.  Come  here,  and  see  if  tea  is  net 


A    STORY  OF   LIFE   IN    A   PKAIKIE   HOME.  261 

ready."  Margaret  led  the  boys  to  the  front  door,  where 
they  saw  the  table  under  the  trees. 

George  did  look  a  little  ashamed  for  an  instant,  then 
threw  his  hat  in  the  air,  crying,  <;  Oh  my,  what  fun  I "  and 
he  and  Jack  dashed  off  to  their  room  to  make  themselves 
presentable.  They  soon  came  down,  with  nicely-brushed 
hair  and  clean  faces  and  linen,  bustled  out  with  the  chairs, 
and  the  three  sat  down — Georgie  opposite  Margaret,  as  he 
was  "  next  oldest  to  her,"  and  so  entitled  to  that  place  of 
responsibility. 

When  they  were  seated,  the  boys  bowed  their  heads, 
while  Margaret  said  a  simple  grace ;  and,  if  the  birds  had 
sung  ever  so  loud  after  that,  they  could  not  have  been  heard, 
for  the  boys  talked  so  fast  and  laughed  so  much. 

"Aunt  Margaret,"  said  George,  "I  cut  as  much  as  a 
whole  acre  of  wheat  to-day,  all  myself.  I  rode  on  the  reap 
er,  and  drove  the  horses,  and  cut  the  wheat." 

"  Drove  the  horses ! "  cried  Jack. 

"  Well,  didn't  I,  now  ?  " 

"  You  had  hold  of  the  reins,  but  Mr.  Simpkins  walked 
ahead  of  'em." 

"  Well,  that's  nothing ;  I  cut  the  wheat,  you  know  I  did." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you  would  enjoy  that  very  much," 
said  Margaret.  "  Doesn't  it  shake  you  up  pretty  well,  rid 
ing  over  the  rough  ground  ?  " 

"  I  guess  it  does,"  answered  George ;  "  but  I  don't  mind 
that.  I  work  like  every  thing  down  in  the  field." 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Jack.  "  I  was  on  the  wagon  while 
Jotham  pitched  up  ever  so  many  loads  to-day,  and  I  laid  the 
bundles  straight  while  he  pitched.  But  what  do  you  think 
I  did  once  ?  I  thought  I'd  drive  on  a  little,  and  I  got  hold 
of  the  wrong  rein,  and  pulled  the  horses  round  so  that  they 
'most  upset  the  load.  I  tell  you  !  wasn't  I  scairt?" 

"  If  I  were  a  little  boy,  and  almost  tipped  over  a  wag- 
on,  I  am  sure  I  should  be  frightened,  instead  of  '  scairt,' " 
Margaret  remarked. 

O 

"Jotham  says  'scairt,'"  replied  Jack. 


262  MAEGAEET : 

"  Jotham  says  a  good  many  things  that  you  had  bettei 
not  say,  Jack.  But  I  am  afraid  you  are  too  venturesome. 
It  would  have  been  a  very  serious  thing  if  you  had  upset 
the  load,  and  yourself  with  it.  It  frightens  me  to  think 
what  might  have  happened." 

"  I  think,  myself,"  said  George,  in  a  very  grown-up  man 
ner,  "that  Jack  is  too  little  to  do  such  things.  If  I  were 
you,  Aunt  Margaret,  I  wouldn't  let  him." 

"  Ho  ! "  cried  Jack,  "  you're  only  two  years  older'n  me — 
that  ain't  much." 

"  What  shall  I  do,  Jackie — and  you  too,  Georgie — to  make 
you  remember  your  grammar  ?  " 

"  I  know  what  Jack  ought  to  have  said  :  '  You  are  only 
two  years  older  than  I  am ;  that  is  not  much ' — only  it  is,  a 
good  deal." 

"  You  might  say,  '  isn't'  instead  of '  is  not.'  But  now  let 
me  tell  you  what  I  heard  a  little  while  ago.  Dr.  Somers 
brought  me  a  letter  from  Mr.  Doane,  which  says  he  has 
seen  Chloe  in  New  York." 

"  What,  our  little  black  Chloe  !  "  cried  George,  "  in  New 
York  ?  How  did  she  get  there  ?  Did  she  go  afoot  and 
alone  ?  " 

"  No ;  a  kind  lady  who  lives  in  Moresville  has  been  tak 
ing  care  of  her  all  this  time,  who  took  her  to  New  York." 

"  Isn't  she  coming  back  to  Moresville  any  more  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  she  is  there  now,  or  will  be  in  a  few 
days." 

"  We'll  go  and  get  her  as  soon  as  ever  she  gets  there, 
won't  we  ?  We  can  take  the  horses  early  in  the  morning, 
before  Jotham  wants  them." 

"  No,  Georgie,  we  are  not  going  to  ask  Mrs.  More  for 
Chloe.  I  suppose  Mr.  Doane  told  her  that  Chloe  had  lived 
here,  and  if  she  chooses  to  give  her  back  to  us  she  will  send 
her.  But  that  is  not  at  all  likely ;  I  have  no  idea  that  we 
shall  see  Chloe  again.  Biddy  answers  our  purpose  very 
well,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  think  she  does  very  well  to  wash  dishes   and 


A  BTOBY   OF   LIFE    IN   A    PEAIKIE    HOME.  263 

things  like  that,  but  she  can't  cut  up  shines  and  make  fun 
like  Chloe." 

"  All  the  better  for  the  '  dishes  and  things  like  that,' 
Georgie,  though  I  should  really  like  to  see  Chloe  again  my 
self.  I  wonder  if  she  looks  and  acts  as  she  used  to.  But  if 
we  are  going  to  salt  the  sheep  we  must  hurry,  for  it  is  grow 
ing  late.  Let  us  take  these  things,  into  the  kitchen,  and  then 
we'll  go." 

"  Let  Biddy  take  them  in,"  said  George. 

"  Biddy  wants  to  finish  her  work  so  that  she  can  go  home 
for  a  little  while,  and  we  may  as  well  help  her.  Take  these 
plates  and  saucers,  and  you,  Jackie,  take  these  things,  and  I 
will  carry  the  rest.  Don't  tumble  down,  either  of  you,  and 
break  my  china.  Biddy,"  she  said,  as  they  went  in  procession 
into  the  kitchen,  "  you  can  wash  these  dishes  before  the  men 
come  up  from  the  field,  and  when  you  have  given  them  their 
tea  and  had  your  own,  you  may  run  home  before  you  do  the 
rest.  Tell  your  mother  that  if  the  baby  is  troublesome,  she 
need  not  come  to-morroAv." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  Miss,"  said  Biddy,  dropping  a  little 
curtsey,  and  Margaret  put  on  her  broad-brimmed  sun-hat, 
and  she  and  the  boys  started  for  the  sheep-lot  with  a  pan  of 
salt. 

"  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  George,  "  ain't  this  a  heap  better 
than  St.  Louis  ?  I  don't  mean  ever  to  go  back  there,  if  I  can 
possibly  help  it." 

"  You'll  have  to,  though,  after  a  while,"  said  Jack, "  when 
Mademoiselle  comes  there." 

"  Don't  you  say  Mademoiselle  to  me  again,"  exclaimed 
George,  fiercely.  "  If  I  do  go  back,  and  she's  there,  I'll  make 
her  sorry  I've  come — sec  if  I  don't." 

"I  don't  think  we  shall  see  any  thing  of  the  kind," 
said  Margaret,  laying  her  hand  gently  on  George's  shoul 
der. 

"  I  want  to  stay  here  with  Aunt  Margaret  till  I'm  big 
enough  to  go  to  China,  and  get  my  money,  and  then  I  shall 
come  home,  and  build  a  house  in  New  York,  or  'round  here 


264:  MAEGAEET  : 

somewhere,  I  don't  know  which  yet,  and  Aunt  Margaret 
shall  have  the  biggest  and  handsomest  room  in  it." 

"  Ain't  you  ever  going  to  get  married,  Aunty  ?  "  asked 
Jack. 

"  Married !  "  exclaimed  George,  scornfully,  "  of  course 
she  won't  get  married,  when  she  has  me  to  take  care  of  her." 

"  You  are  pretty  small  to  take  care  of  any  body  like 
Aunt  Margaret,"  said  Jack.  "  I  should  think  she  ought  to 
have  a  grown-up  man  like  Mr.  Doane,  or  such." 

"I  shall  be  grown  up  some  day,  I  guess.  Am  I  always 
going  to  be  small  ?  Won't  you  let  me  take  care  of  you, 
Aunty  ?  " 

"  I  feel  very  much  flattered  by  your  devotion,  Georgie,  and 
if  you  are  of  the  same  mind  when  you  are  grown  up  we  will 
see." 

"  I  must  have  somebody  that's  beautiful,  like  you,  in  my 
house,  because  it  will  be  as  grand  and  fine  as  any  thing  you 
ever  saw  in  all  your  life.  Wait — I'll  let  down  the  bars  for 
you,"  and  with  an  air  of  boyish  gallantry  that  was  quite  new 
to  him,  and  that  pleased  while  it  amused  Margaret,  he  took 
down  the  bars  and  stood  back  for  her  to  pass  through. 

The  children  called  the  sheep,  which  came  in  a  body  from 
the  further  side  of  the  lot,  and  crowded  around,  eager  for 
the  salt  which  was  being  thrown  on  the  grass.  The  boys 
watched  them  curiously,  singling  out  the  greedy  ones  for  the 
smaller  share,  and  the  meeker  ones,  who  seemed  less  inclined 
to  push  their  way  and  assert  themselves,  for  an  extra  hand 
ful. 

"  I  never  saw  a  *  lamb  whose  fleece  was  whit'e  as  snow,' 
like  the  one  that  Mary  took  to  school,  did  you,  Aunt  Marga 
ret  ?  " 

"  No,  Georgie,  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever  did." 

"  I  think  they  are  good  little  things,  but  I  don't  think 
they  are  very  pretty,  and  they  look  as  silly  as  any  thing  when 
they  are  all  huddled  together,  with  their  heads  down  to  keep 
cool.  A  funny  way  to  keep  cool !  " 

"  Boys,"  said  Margaret,  "  I  see  something  away  in  that 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIBIE    HOME.  265 

corner  that  looks  like  a  lamb  lying  on  the  ground,  and  I 
am  afraid  it  is  hurt  or  sick.  Run  and  see  about  it." 

They  started  off  at  full  speed,  and  when  they  reached  the 
corner,  they  made  a  brief  examination  and  shouted,  "  It's  a 
lamb,  and  its  leg  is  broken." 

Margaret  hastened  across  the  field,  and  sure  enough, 
there  was  a  lamb  lying  on  its  side,  with  one  of  its  legs  badly 
hurt.  When  Margaret  stooped  over  it,  it  uttered  a  mournful 
Hah  !  and  looked  piteously  into  her  face. 

"  Isn't  it  too  bad  ?  "  said  George.  "  I  know  how  it  feels 
to  get  a  broken  bone,  and  there  ain't  any  fun  in  it." 

"  I  don't  think  the  bone  is  broken,"  said  Margaret ;  "  but 
I  wish  we  could  get  the  poor  thing  up  to  the  house." 

"  Can't  we  carry  him  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"Not  very  well,  but  Jotham  can;  and  if  you  run 
and  ask  him,  Georgie  and  I  will  wait  here  till  you  come 
back." 

Jack  went  for  Jotham,  who,  having  examined  the  leg, 
said  it  would  be  all  right  in  a  day  or  two,  seeming  to  think 
it  rather  superfluous  to  take  the  lamb  home ;  but  he  did,  and 
Margaret  made  a  soft  bed  in  the  woodshed,  and  bathed  and 
bound  up  the  wound,  the  lamb  lying  patient  and  confiding 
the  while.  George  and  Jack  looked  on  svmpathiziugly — 
Jotham  with  mingled  approval  and  disdain. 

"  'Tain't  every  dumb  beast,  nor  man  nor  woman  neither, 
as  gits  sech  tendin'  as  that  ere  when  he's  sick,"  Jotham  re 
marked. 

"  More's  the  pity  ;  don't  you  think  so,  Jotham  ?  " 

"  Wai,  yes,  I  s'pose  kindness  is  a  good  sort  o'  thing,  ef 
you  kin  git  it." 

"  If  we  give  it,  we  are  pretty  sure  to  get  it  in  return." 

"  I  guess  that's  true,  too,"  replied  Jotham,  thoughtfully. 
"  Ef  you  ain't  in  much  of  a  hurry,"  he  added,  "  I'd  be  pleased 
to  tell  you  what  I've  been  a  cogitatin'  on  sence  you  come 
home." 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,  you  can  tell  me  now.  Run  away, 
boys  ;  we  can  do  nothing  more  for  the  lamb  to-night,  except 
12 


266  MARGARET I 

to  give  it  some  warm  milk  by-and-by.  I  will  come  to  you 
soon." 

Jotham  leaned  against  the  door  of  the  woodshed,  and 
began  with  the  air  of  having  every  thing  he  had  to  say  fully 
digested  and  prepared. 

"  I've  ben  here  goin'  on  a  year  now,  an'  I  guess  you've  found 
me  out  to  be  a  tol'able  honest,  decent  sort  o'  feller,  hain't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  we  have,  Jotham,"  replied  Margaret,  won 
dering  what  was  coming. 

"  Wai,  an'  you  hain't  found  out  that  I  don't  know  as  much 
as  another  about  farmin'  an'  lookin'  arter  things  in  gen'al  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  very  sure  I  have  not  found  that  out." 

"  An'  you're  a  lone  woman  now,  an'  women  folks  ain't 
gen'ally  'sposed  to  kerry  on  farms  on  their  own  hook,  an'  I 
hain't  no  idee  that  you've  got  any  sech  notion ;  an'  ef  you 
hain't,  an'  think  as  how  I'm  honest,  an'  know  what's  what 
about  a  farm,  what's  to  pervent  my  takin'  this  place  on  shares, 
an'  makin'  the  most  on't  ?  You  could  live  on  here  the  same's 
you  hev',  or  you  could  go  to  your  folks  in  St.  Louis,  an'  which 
ever  you  did,  you'd  know  that  nothin'  was  bein'  wasted  or 
goin'  to  rack." 

This  proposition  took  Margaret  wholly  by  surprise,  as  the 
plan  had  never  suggested  itself,  and  her  first  impulse  was  to 
decline  even  to  consider  it.  But  as  she  thought  it  over 
rapidly,  it  seemed  as  if  it  might  be  a  practicable  and  wise 
arrangement.  So  she  replied  that  she  could  not  give  him  a 
decided  answer  then,  but  would  consider  it  and  let  him  know 
in  a  few  days. 

"  This  is  a  very  vallible  piece  o'  land,"  Jotham  said,  "  an' 
though  I  say  it  that  oughtn't,  you  mout  look  a  long  ways  an' 
not  find  a  man  as  would  do  as  well  by  you  as  me ;  an'  I  don't 
calkilate  to  live  on  wages  much  longer ; "  and  he  added  with 
a  little  embarrassment  of  manner,  "  There  may  be  a  Mrs. 
Jotham  Wright  one  o'  these  days,  an'  she'll  want  more'n 
wages  to  live  on." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  exclaimed  Margaret,  smiling,  "  so  you  are 
thinking  of  getting  married." 


A  STORY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PBAIBIE  HOME.  267 

"  Wai,  yes,  I  s'pose  I  am  a  thinkin'  ou't.  I  hain't  seen 
the  lucky  gal  yet,  though,  that  I'd  give  my  hand  to,"  and 
Jotham  assumed  the  look  of  one  who  had  his  wits  about  him, 
and  was  not  likely  to  be  duped. 

"  Well,  Jotham,"  Margaret  said,  "  I  have  no  doubt  we 
can  make  some  satisfactory  arrangement.  I  am  very  sure  I 
shouldn't  like  to  lose  your  services,  and  I  shall  not,  of  course, 
wish  you  to  do  what  would  be  against  your  own  interests." 

Jotham  nodded  acquiescingly,  and  thrusting  his  hands  in 
to  his  pockets,  walked  away  to  the  barn. 

Margaret  stood  in  the  door  of  the  woodshed,  looking, 
listening,  and  musing.  The  sun  had  set,  leaving  a  crimson 
and  golden  glory  on  a  few  clouds  lying  low  in  the  west.  The 
breeze  had  freshened,  and  the  trees  waved  gently  at  its 
touch  ;  the  birds  flew  about  busily,  filling  the  air  with  their 
blithe  evening  songs.  How  strange  to  think  that  a  year  be 
fore,  all  that  she  looked  upon  had  seemed  as  far  removed  from 
the  world  and  her  old  life,  as  if  it  had  been  in  another  sphere ; 
now  how  near  that  world  and  her  past  seemed.  She  almost 
felt  as  if  the  chasm  were  being  bridged  over  by  separate 
links — that  her  past  and  present  would  soon  stand  face  to  face. 

The  gold  and  crimson  faded  from  the  sky,  the  bird-songs 
died  away  as  the  birds  sought  their  leafy  coverts  for  the  night, 
and  the  stars  began  to  appear  in  the  darkening  blue,  before 
Margaret  entered  the  house.  She  found  the  boys  asleep  on 
the  floor  in  the  sitting-room,  and  had  no  little  difficulty  in 
rousing  them  and  getting  them  up-stairs  to  bed. 

When  she  came  down,  Biddy  had  returned  and  was  busy 
at  her  deferred  duties,  Margaret,  having  made  a  visit  of  in 
spection  to  the  pantry,  given  the  lamb  its  milk,  and  s*cen  that 
it  was  comfortable  for  the  night,  lighted  the  lamp  in  the  sit 
ting-room  and  sat  down  with  her  book.  There  were  flowers 
on  the  mantel  and  on  the  table ;  these  she  gathered  near  her, 
feeling  that  their  sweet  presence  made  her  less  alone  ;  then 
with  a  little  effort  of  will  she  bent  her  thoughts  upon  her 
reading,  and  the  evening  did  not  seem  long. 


CHAPTER  XXIH. 

He  came  .... 

Well,  how  he  came,  I  will  relate  to  you, 
And  if  your  hearts  should  burn,  why,  hearts  must  burn. 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

"*  SHALL  you  get  in  all  the  wheat  to-day  ? "  Margaret 
aslcsd  of  Jotham  the  next  morning,  as  she  poured  the  rich 
yellow  cream  he  had  brought  her  from  the  milk-room  into 
the  churn,  while  Biddy  stood  -by  ready  to  ply  the  dasher. 

"  'Tain't  likely,  when  I've  got  to  take  one  of  the  hosses 
an  go  to  mill,"  answered  Jotham  in  an  unamiable  tone. 

•'  If  you  can  do  without  the  horse,  so  that  it  will  save 
tii*>e,  I  will  go  to  the  mill  myself,"  said  Margaret. 

"  We  could  do  without  the  hoss  well  enough  fer  a  couple 
of  hours  ;  ther'd  be  another  hand  at  the  bundling — of  course 
it  ud  save  time,  an'  it  ud  be  time  well  saved,  for  Tim  Simp- 
kins  can't  come  arter  to-day ;  an'  what's  more,  we're  a-goin' 
to  hev  rain  afore  another  twenty-four  hours." 

"  Bring  the  wagon  to  the  door  before  you  go  to  your 
work,  then.  I  will  start  as  soon  as  I  can,  so  as  to  get  home 
before  the  heat  of  the  day." 

Jotham,  pulling  his  hat,  which  had  been  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  to  its  proper  place,  left  the  kitchen,  and  Biddy  took 
her  place  at  the  churn. 

"  Now,  Biddy,"  said  Margaret,  "  see  if  you  can  bring  the 
butter  so  that  I  can  take  it  out  before  I  go.  I  don't  believe 
I  could  trust  you  to  do  that,  your  hands  are  so  little.  There 
will  not  be  much  for  you  to  do  while  I  am  gone,  for  I  shall  be 
back  in  time  to  attend  to  the  dinner." 

After  a  while  Margaret  went  into  the  sitting-room,  where 
the  boys  sat  by  the  table  with  their  books  before  them  ;  but 
just  then  they  happened  to  be  engaged  in  an  animated  dis 
cussion  about  something  not  at  all  relevant  to  their  lessons. 

"  Have  you  looked  into  your  books,  children,  or  have  you 


A   STOEY   OF    LIFE    IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  269 

been  chattering  like  two  little  magpies  ever  since  I  left 
you  ?  "  asked  their  aunt. 

"I  have  looked  into  a  book,"  said  George.  "I  'most 
know  my  geography." 

"  So  do  I ;  but  it's  awful  hard  !  "  said  Jack 

"  I  wonder  if  you  could  spend  time  this  morning  to  go  to 
the  mill  ?  " 

"  To  the  mill ! "  cried  the  boys,  dashing  their  books 
down,  and  nearly  upsetting  the  table  in  their  delight. 

"  Is  Jotham  going  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  am  going  to  save  his  time,  because  it  is  going  to 
rain,  and  he  is  anxious  to  get  the  wheat  in  to-day.  I  thought 
I  would  just  speak  to  you  about  it ;  but  perhaps  you  would 
rather  stay  at  home  and  study." 

"  Stay  at  home  and  study  !  "  cried  George.  "  I  hope  we 
ain't  quite  so  silly  as  that.  I'll  drive." 

"  "Not  all  the  time — shall  he,  Aunty  ?  "  exclaimed  Jack. 

"  I  may  have  to  drive  all  the  time  myself,"  said  Margaret. 
"I  surely  should,  if  I  were  to  find  that  it  was  hard  for  you 
and  Georgie  to  come  to  an  agreement  about  it." 

"  Well,  then,  Jack  can  drive  one  way,  and  I  will  the 
other;  but  I'm  the  oldest,  and  ought  to  say  whether  I 
rather  do  it  going,  or  coming." 

"  What  do  you  think  about  that,  Jackie  ?  "  asked  Mar 
garet. 

"  I  think  the  youngest  ought  to  choose." 

"  Suppose,  then,  that  one  little  boy  thinks  he  has  rights 
because  ho  is  the  older,  and  the  other  because  he  is  the 
younger ;  what  is  to  be  done  ?  How  can  it  be  decided  ?  " 

The  boys  considered  a  moment.  "  I  guess  you'd  have  to 
say,"  replied  George. 

"  I  should  say  that  little  boys  who  were  generous  and 
polite  would  not  talk  about  their  rights,  and  which  was  the 
older  and  younger,  but  would  be  ready  to  yield  to  each  other 
in  little  things.  Now,  I  want  you  to  study  until  I  am  ready, 
which  will  be  in  less  than  half  an  hour." 

The  boys  opened  their  geographies  with  a  great  show  of 


270  MAEGAEET I 

industry,  and,  as  far  as  in  them  lay  with  such  a  pleasure  close 
at  hand,  kept  their  eyes  and  thoughts  from  wandering,  until 
Margaret  summoned  them. 

"  You  may  drive,  if  you  want  to  very  bad,  Jack,"  said 
George. 

"  No,  you  may.     I'd  just  as  lief  drive  coming  home." 

So  George  and  his  aunt  sat  on  the  front  seat,  and  Jack 
on  the  bag  of  wheat  behind.  Margaret  heartily  rejoiced  in 
the  "  bit  of  poor  housekeeping  "  that  had  brought  about  the 
rare  luxury  of  a  ride  in  harvest-time.  She  joined  in  the  boys' 
busy  talk,  while  her  senses  feasted  upon  the  beauties  of  the 
morning — the  sunshine,  the  soft,  fragrant  air,  the  deep  blue 
of  the  sky,  the  rich  midsummer  coloring  of  the  fields  and 
far-reaching  prairie-lands,  and  the  hum  of  insects  and  singing 
of  birds.  She  did  not  long,  as  she  often  had,  for  the  bolder 
and  more  varied  effects  of  hill  and  valley;  the  very  monotony 
of  the  scene  seemed  to  suit  the  spirit  of  the  day,  and  her 
mood  was  in  harmony  with  all. 

They  jogged  on  at  a  comfortable  pace  along  the  smooth, 
level  road,  till  they  came  in  good  time  to  the  mill,  which  was 
just  off  the  main  road,  and  stood  picturesquely  by  the  side 
of  the  quiet  stream  ;  below  the  mill  the  stream  was  lined  on 
both  banks  by  trees,  that  in  some  places  interlaced  their 
branches  above  it. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Crosby,"  said  the  miller,  coming  to 
the  door.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you  this  morning  ?  It's  an 
unexpected  honor  to  have  you  come  to  my  mill." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  speaks  little  for  our  thrift,  that  we  are 
obliged  to  bring  a  grist  during  harvesting." 

"  Not  at  all — not  at  all.  Such  things  will  happen  to  the 
thriftiest  of  folks.  Them  are  your  sister's  boys,  ain't  they  ? 
They've  been  here  now  and  then  with  Jotham  ;  I  took  quite 
a  shine  to  'em." 

"  They  are  very  good  children,"  said  Margaret,  looking 
after  them  as  they  jumped  from  the  wagon  and  ran  to  the  brook. 

"  Will  you  wait  for  the  wheat  to  be  ground,  Miss  Cros 
by  ?  "  asked  the  miller,  lifting  the  bag  to  his  shoulder. 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A    PEAIRIE    HOME.  271 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  must  wait ;  it  will  be  more  economical  of 
time  than  to  come  for  it.  Will  it  take  long  ?  " 

"  Well,  there's  a  grist  a-grinding  now,  but  yours  shall 
come  next.  It  won't  be  so  very  long." 

Leaving  the  horse  in  the  shade,  Margaret  followed  the 
boys,  who  had  gone  below  the  dam,  and  were  already  bare 
footed,  and  proceeding  to  roll  up  their  trousers  preparatory 
to  wading.  She  was  a  little  inclined  to  forbid  it,  but  con 
cluded  that,  as  the  water  was  low,  scarcely  covering  the 
larger  stones  in  its  bed,  there  was  no  necessity  for  spoiling 
their  sport.  Finding  a  shady  nook  and  a  comfortable  seat, 
she  sat  down  to  Avatch  them,  and  enjoy  the  pretty  scene  and 
the  pleasant  noise  of  the  water  and  the  mill. 

The  boys  built  miniature  dams,  sailed  impromptu  boats, 
imagining  all  sorts  of  situations  and  dilemmas,  of  which  they 
kept  Margaret  informed  by  shouts,  looking  for  her  nod  and 
smile  oif  appreciation  of  danger  or  impossibility.  It  was 
a  pity  there  was  no  one  by,  with  an  eye  for  the  picturesque, 
to  take  in  the  wrhole — the  brown  mill,  the  clear,  gently-flow 
ing  stream,  with  the  busy,  noisy  boys  in  it,  the  rough  log 
bridge,  and  Margaret  sitting  at  the  water's  edge  in  the  shade, 
her  hat  held  carelessly  in  her  hand,  her  bright,  smiling  eyes 
resting  now  on  the  boys  and  now  upon  her  pleasant  surround 
ings,  while  flecks  of  sunlight  sifted  through  the  softly  quiv 
ering  leaves,  and  fell  on  her  hair  and  dress  and  face.  She 
appreciated  all  the  beauties  of  the  scene  except  herself. 

By-and-by  the  miller  came  to  say  that  the  wheat  was 
ground ;  and  Margaret,  hardly  less  reluctant  to  leave  her 
nook  than  the  boys  were  their  play,  rose  and  walked  toward 
the  mill. 

"Don't  let's  go,  Aunty,"  cried  George.  "I'd  like  to 
stay  here  all  day." 

"So  would  I,"  replied  Margaret,  "  but  we  cannot;  Biddy 
wouldn't  know  what  to  do  about  dinner.  We  shall  be  late 
as  it  is." 

"  I'd  rather  make  catarac's  and  sail-boats  than  eat  dinner, 
any  day."  -. 


272  MARGAEET ! 

"  You  mean  just  now,  Georgie  ;  but  you  will  not  say  so  b} 
twelve  o'clock.  So  much  hard  work  will  make  you  hungry. 
Besides,  you  will  want  to  help  Jotham  this  afternoon,  and  I 
must  go  to  Miss  Patty's ;  so  put  on  your  shoes  and  stockings 
now." 

Jack  sat  down  on  the  grass  to  do  as  he  was  bidden,  while 
Margaret  walked  on  to  speak  to  the  miller.  When  they 
came  to  the  wagon,  George  was  perched  on  the  front  seat, 
holding  the  reins  and  looking  as  innocent  and  unconscious  as 
possible. 

"  Look  at  George,  Aunt  Margaret !  "  cried  Jack.  "  He 
wants  to  drive  home,  too." 

"  Oh !  did  I  drive  here  ?  Why,  so  I  did,"  exclaimed 
George,  climbing  into  the  back  of  the  wagon,  where  he  sat 
down  on  the  bags  of  wheat  and  shorts. 

"  Why,  Georgie,  what  do  I  see  ?  "  exclaimed  Margaret. 
"  Your  bare  feet !  Why  did  you  not  put  on  your  shoes  and 
stockings,  as  I  told  you  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I'd  just  like  to  see  how  it  would  seem  to  go 
barefoot,"  answered  George,  arranging  himself  with  his  back 
to  the  seat  and  his  feet  stretched  out  before  him,  that  he 
might  have  the  full  benefit  of  his  experiment.  "  I  wonder 
what  Mademoiselle  would  say  if  she  could  see  me  now  ?  " 

Margaret  could  not  help  laughing  as  she  looked  at  George, 
and  pictured  the  horrors  of  his  polite,  precise  French  gov 
erness.  Having  laughed,  she  concluded  to  let  George  have 
his  way ;  and  without  further  remark,  except  that  it  was  for 
this  once  only,  she  took  her  place,  and  they  started  for 
home. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  rain  before  night,"  she  said,  for 
clouds  had  gathered  in  the  west,  and  fleecy  ones  floated 
across  the  sky. 

"  Won't  it  spoil  the  wheat  if  it  does  ?  "  asked  George. 

"  No  doubt  it  would  be  better  for  the  wheat  if  it  were  all 
stacked  before  the  rain  came." 

"Well,  then,  why  doesn't  the  rain  wait  till  it  is  all 
stacked  ?  " 


A   8TOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIEIE   HOME.  273 

"  Perhaps  it  will ;  but  if  it  does  not,  it  will  be  all  right, 
you  know." 

"  How  do  I  know  it  ?  What  if  we  shouldn't  have  flour 
enough  to  make  all  the  bread  we  want ;  would  that  be  all 
right  ?  " 

"  It  certainly  would  be,  Georgie,  if  it  was  because  the 
rain  came  in  time  to  prevent  it — if  it  was  no  fault  of  ours ; 
because  God  sends  the  rain,  and  He  knows  when  it  ought 
to  come.  That  is  one  thing  I  should  like  to  have  you  and 
Jackie  learn  now,  and  remember  all  your  lives — not  to  com 
plain  at  what  our  heavenly  Father  does.  Be  careful  to  do 
the  best  you  can  yourselves ;  then,  whatever  comes,  it  will 
be  right,  and  for  your  good.  Do  you  understand  what  I 
mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  George  eagerly,  kneeling  on  the 
bags,  and  putting  his  head  between  Margaret  and  Jack ; 
"  you  mean  that  we  ought  to  work  hard  to  get  the  wheat  in, 
and  then,  if  the  rain  comes  before  we  can,  and  spoils  it,  so 
that  we  have  to  go  without  flour,  we  ought  not  to  feel  cross 
because  God  made  it  rain." 

"  Yes,  Georgie,  that  is  just  what  I  meant." 

Jotham  met  them  at  the  gate  when  they  arrived,  looking 
decidedly  out  of  sorts. 

"  Have  you  had  any  dinner  yet,  Jotham  ?  "  asked  Mar 
garet. 

"  Ef  that  'ere  Biddy  hed  hed  her  way,  we'd  a  gone  hun 
gry  back  to  work,  an'  it's  no  thanks  to  her  that  we  hed  a 
mouthful." 

"  I  thought  we  could  trust  you  not  to  go  hungry,"  said 
Margaret,  laughing,  as  Biddy's  flushed,  worried  face  appeared 
at  the  kitchen-door. 

"  No,  ther'  warn't  no  danger  o'  that,  as  long's  ther'  was 
taters  an'  meat  in  the  house,  an'  I  knew  enough  to  cook  'em." 

"  We'll  be  down  bime-by  !  "  shouted  George,  as  Jotham 
drove  towards  the  barn. 

"  Nobody  wants  you,"  called  Jotham,  too  put  out  to  be 
come  good-natured  at  all  suddenly. 
12* 


274  MAKGAEET  : 

"  We're  coining,  anyhow,"  was  the  answer. 

George  ran  into  the  house,  and  under  pretence  of  help 
ing  Biddy,  kept  her  so  tossed  about  in  her  mind  until  din 
ner  was  ready,  that  she  could  think  of  nothing  until  it  was 
fairly  over,  when  she  came  to  say,  "  Oh,  Miss !  I  forgot  to 
tell  yez  that  there  was  a  gintleman  to  see  yez  while  ye  was 
away." 

"A  gentleman,  Biddy?  Was  it  Dr.  Somers,  or  Mr. 
Davis  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  ;  nayther  o'  thim." 

"  Was  it  Mr.  Thomas,  the  gentleman  who  took  tea  here 
the  other  day  ?  " 

"  N"o,  Miss,  it  wasn't  him,  nayther.  I  niver  seed  him 
afore." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  how  he  looked,  Biddy  ?  Had  he  dark 
hair,  and  was  he  tall  ? "  asked  Margaret,  thinking  that  it 
must  be  Dr.  Doane. 

"  I  shouldn't  a  bit  wonder  if  he  had  that  same,"  said 
Biddy,  brightening.  "  He  was  a  raal  purty  gintleman,  an' 
come  a  horseback." 

"  Did  he  not  tell  you  his  name,  Biddy  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  his  name,  is  it  ?  "  said  Biddy.  "  I  belave  he 
told  me  some  name,  but  it's  clane  gone  out  o'  me  head  in- 
tirely.  He  said  he'd  come  ag'in  the  night,  though,  afther 
tay,  and  thin  he  can  tell  ye  his  name  himsel' ;  "  and  Biddy 
looked  fairly  radiant  at  this  happy  thought. 

Margaret  said  that,  if  he  was  coming  back  again,  it  was 
all  right,  and  prepared  for  her  walk  to  Miss  Patty's,  with  the 
pleasant  little  excitement  of  an  anticipation.  She  wondered 
that  Dr.  Doane  had  not  waited  for  her  return,  but  supposed 
that,  on  his  way  to  St.  Louis,  he  had  stopped  for  the  day, 
and  had  improved  the  time  of  her  own  and  the  children's 
absence  to  call  on  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Somers.  She  gave  Biddy 
directions  about  tea  in  case  she  should  be  detained,  and  told 
the  boys  that  they  might  amuse  themselves,  or  come  for  her, 
if  she  had  not  returned  when  they  were  tired  of  working 
with  Jotham. 


A    BTOEY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  275 

"I  guess  we  shall  be  too  busy  for  that,"  said  George 
who  was  arrayed  for  the  field. 

"  Very  well ;  only  don't  get  into  mischief,  or  trouble 
Jothara.  I  shall  be  back  to  tea,  unless  Miss  Patty  needs  me." 

It  was  a  hall-mile  to  Miss  Patty's  house,  by  the  short  cut 
across  the  meadows  and  through  the  woods ;  but  though  the 
afternoon  sun  was  warm,  Margaret  enjoyed  the  walk,  and 
arrived  at  her  destination  with  bright  eyes  and  cheeks.  No 
doubt  she  seemed  like  a  sunbeam  as  she  entered  the  sitting- 
room,  where  Miss  Patty  sat  in  a  rocking-chair,  looking  so 
pale  and  ill  that  Margaret  was  startled  into  an  exclamation 
of  dismay ;  but  the  pale  face  lighted  up  when  her  eyes 
opened  and  rested  on  her  visitor. 

"  My  dear,  how  glad  I  am  that  you're  come  at  last !  I 
thought  you  never  would,"  Miss  Patty  said,  in  tones  not  at 
all  like  her  usual  blithe  ones. 

Margaret  smoothed  back  the  gray  hair,  saying,  "  I  didn't 
know  that  you  were  not  well,  till  Dr.  Somers  told  me,  last 
night.  I  should  have  come  to  you  this  morning  only  that  I 
had  to  go  to  the  mill.  But,  dear  Miss  Patty,  I  had  no  thought 
of  your  being  so  ill." 

"  It  isn't  much,  my  clear.  Sister  has  been  so  bad  with 
her  pains,  and  the  weather  was  so  warm,  I  got  tired  out, 
that's  all." 

"  And  you  have  had  nobody  to  take  care  of  you,"  said 
Margaret,  sorrowfully.  "  To  see  you  sitting  in  this  straight- 
backed  chair,  all  by  yourself !  I  can't  forgive  myself  for  not 
having  come  before,  but  I  shall  do  my  best  to  make  you  com 
fortable  now." 

"  The  sight  of  you  is  comfort,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Patty, 
as  Margaret  left  the  room. 

She  soon  returned  with  comforters,  pillows,  and  sheets, 
with  which  she  made  the  lounge  into  a  most  inviting  little 
bed,  whereon  she  placed  Miss  Patty ;  then  she  brushed  her 
hair  and  stroked  her  temples,  talking  to  her  in  a  soothing 
tone,  till  she  fell  into  a  quiet  sleep.  It  was  a  less  pleasant  duty 
to  look  after  the  wants  of  the  sister,  who  was  glad  to  have 


276  MARGARET : 

some  one  to  whom  she  could  pour  forth  her  complaints,  but 
could  hardly  be  coaxed  into  any  thing  like  good  humor  by 
gentle  attentions.  Without  the  tempting  little  dinner  which 
Margaret  prepared,  every  thing  else  would  have  failed. 
That  proved  the  conquering  stroke ;  and  when  Miss  Patty 
awoke,  Margaret  came  to  her  with  pleasant  accounts  of  her 
sister's  cheerful  frame  of  mind,  which  were  a  balm  to  her 
heart. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  didn't  ask  you  before  I  went  to 
sleep,  did  I — no,  I  was  too  weak  and  dull  to  think  of  it — 
if  you  had  a  gentleman  visitor  this  morning  ?  " 

"  A  gentleman  called  at  the  house  while  I  was  away. 
But  how  did  you  know  about  it,  Miss  Patty  ?  I  cannot 
imagine." 

"  Why,  my  dear,  he  stopped  here  to  ask  the  way  to  your 
house — to  Mr.  Crosby's  farm,  as  he  said — and  I  told  him  as 
well  as  I  could,  though  my  mind  misgave  me  afterwards,  for 
fear  I  didn't  make  it  clear." 

"  You  did  make  it  plain  ;  but  was  not  it  Dr.  Doane  ?  It 
couldn't  have  been — he  would  not  have  needed  to  ask  the 
way,  and  then,  you  would  have  known  him." 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure  I  should,"  said  Miss  Patty,  raising 
her  head  to  look  into  Margaret's  face.  "  Don't  you  know 
who  it  was  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure.  Biddy  forgot  his  name  ;  but  as  it  was 
not  Dr.  Doane,  I  think  it  must  have  been  his  cousin,  Mr. 
Frederick  Doane." 

"  That  is  the  gentleman  who  came  with  you  from  St. 
Louis,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Margaret  assented.  Patty  shut  her  eyes  tight,  but  in 
spite  of  that,  the  tears  stole  from  beneath  the  lids,  and  be 
trayed  her.  And  while  Margaret  saw  them  with  pitying 
wonder,  Patty  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled  a  little  sad  smile. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  though  I  am  not 
going  to  be  selfish,  and  grudge  your  being  happy.  There 
isn't  any  body  in  the  wide  world  that  deserves  it  more  than 
you  do.  But  when  I  saw  that  fine  gentleman  this  morning, 


A   BTOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PEAIRIE    HOME.  277 

though  I've  been  expecting  him  ever  since  you  came  from  St. 
Louis,  and  he  with  you,  I  was  so  wicked  and  selfish  that  I 
could  almost  have  told  him  the  wrong  road,  so  that  he 
couldn't  find  my  dear,  and  take  her  away  from  me.  But  I 
didn't ;  and  when  she  goes,  I  shall  give  her  my  heart's  best 
blessing.  You  didn't  see  him  ?  "  she  added,  with  an  anxious 
look.  "  Isn't  he  coming  again  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  told  Biddy  that  he  should  come  again  to 
night,"  said  Margaret,  smiting  at  her  friend's  inconsistency. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  exclaimed  Miss  Patty,  fervently. 

"  But,  my  dear  Miss  Patty,"  said  Margaret,  "  what  could 
have  put  such  an  idea  into  your  head  ?  I  am  not  going 
away.  I  hope  to  spend  all  my  life  on  the  farm,  and  nobody 
will  ever  come  to  take  me  away,  as  you  are  imagining.  So 
don't  trouble  yourself  about  my  leaving  you." 

Patty  shook  her  head  incredulously,  and  Margaret  added, 
"  You  must  believe  what  I  say,  for  it  is  true ; "  and  she 
entered  upon  an  account  of  their  going  to  the  mill,  and  of  her 
news  of  Chloe,  which  latter  item  interested  Miss  Patty  in 
tensely. 

"  I  am  going  to  stay  to  tea,  Miss  Patty,"  Margaret  said, 
"  and  if  there  is  any  thing  you  would  especially  like,  tell  me, 
and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do." 

"  Any  thing  in  the  world  that  you  make  will  taste  good," 
said  Patty. 

"  You  are  very  easily  pleased,"  said  Margaret,  going  to 
the  kitchen,  but  stopping  on  her  way  to  ask  Patty's  sister  if 
she  would  join  the  tea-party. 

"  Oh,  la !  I  never  could  get  in  there,  and  back,  with  my 
lame  feet,"  was  the  reply. 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  do  quite  as  well  to  keep  quiet," 
answered  Margaret.  In  a  little  while  she  had  a  dainty  sup 
per  ready,  which  she  placed  on  a  stand  by  Patty's  couch,  and 
had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Patty  drink  her  tea  and  eat  her 
toast  and  jelly  with  an  evident  relish. 

When  the  tea-things  were  put  away,  and  Miss  Patty  and 
her  sister  made  ready  for  the  night,  Margaret  started  on  her 


278  MARGARET  : 

homeward  walk.  The  sun  had  just  set,  and  the  first  rosy 
glow  had  faded  from  the  earth;  but  the  white  clouds  that 
had  been  drifting  across  the  sky,  and  the  masses  that  had 
gathered  like  mountains  of  snow  above  the  horizon,  were 
transfigured  into  unimaginable  splendors. 

"  A  shower  now — when  I  am  safely  in  the  house — 
would  complete  the  beauties  of  this  lavish  summer's  day," 
Margaret  thought ;  "  yet  I  cannot  wish  for  it.  I  shouldn't  see 
Mr.  Doane,  or  my  mysterious  visitor,  whoever  he  may  be,  if 
it  rained." 

She  walked  quickly  when  she  came  to  the  woods,  catch 
ing  glimpses  of  the  changeful  splendors  of  the  heavens,  wish 
ing  that  she  had  had  time  to  go  home  by  the  road,  and  hoping 
that  the  glory  would  not  fade  till  she  could  gain  one  more 
full  view  of  it.  But  when  she  reached  the  edge  of  the  wood, 
she  stood  still  to  look,  not  at  the  clouds,  but  at  something 
that  moved  slowly  along  in  dark  relief  against  the  sky  ;  and 
she  continued  to  look,  until  the  dark  object  stopped  at  her  own 
gate.  A  moment  after,  a  man's  figure  moved  slowly  up  the  path 
to  the  door.  So  her  visitor  had  arrived  before  her,  after  all. 

With  the  idea  still  in  her  mind  that  it  could  be  no  other 
than  Mr.  Doane,  she  started  forward  and  lifted  her  hat  to 
wave  it  in  order  to  attract  his  attention,  when  he  turned  fully 
around,  bringing  his  face  into  relief  against  the  dark  back 
ground  of  the  open  door.  She  drew  back  a  little  into  the 
shelter  of  the  trees,  and  sat  down,  because  her  strength  was 
gone,  and  there  she  sat  looking,  with  dilated  eyes,  until  the 
figure  entered  the  house.  Then  she  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands,  trembling  violently.  But  it  was  only  for  a  few  mo 
ments.  When  she  raised  her  head,  her  face  was  strangely 
beautiful  in  its  calm  self-possession,  with  only  a  tremor  of 
the  lips  and  lashes,  that  would  soon  cease,  to  show  that  a 
tender,  tenacious  woman's  heart  had  been  suddenly  and 
deeply  stirred.  The  struggle  had  been  brief,  but  sharp ;  and 
the  spirit  had  proved  equal  to  the  emergency.  The  heart 
might  quail  and  shiver,  but  the  spirit  would  keep  loyal  and 
trusty  guard  ;  no  eye  should  behold  the  weakness. 


A   8TOKY    OF   LIFE    IN    A   PKAIKIE    HOME.  279 

She  left  the  deepening  shadow  of  the  trees,  and  took  her 
quiet  way  across  the  meadow  with  an  added  touch  of  state- 
liness  in  the  unfailing  grace  of  her  bearing — noting  that  the 
splendor  had  departed  from  the  clouds,  leaving  only  their 
edges  crimsoned,  and  that  the  slender  crescent  moon  rested 
on  one  of  the  crimson  fringes. 

Biddy  came  out  upon  the  steps,  evidently  looking  for  her ; 
she  waved  her  hat,  and  Biddy  turned  back  quickly,  but  it 
was  some  time  before  any  one  else  appeared — not  until  Mar 
garet  had  left  the  meadow  and  was  crossing  the  road ;  then 
Robert  Russell,  who  had  waited  her  coming,  walked  down 
the  path,  her  fair  face  and  white  dress  gleaming  before  him 
like  a  spirit's.  It  was  a  spirit-like  smile  that  flitted  over  her 
face  as  she  passed  through  the  gate  which  he  held  open  for 
her ;  but  when  her  calm  eyes  met  his  eyes,  when  her  warm 
human  hand  rested  in  his  hand,  and  her  sweet,  low  voice  fell 
on  his  ear  in  simple  words  of  welcome,  he  felt  her  to  be,  not  a 
spirit,  but  a  woman,  high-souled,  true-hearted,  the  very  one 
he  had  loved ;  yet  the  echo  of  his  own  words  came  to  him, 
"  I  have  no  Margaret,  save  in  my  dreams." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting  to-night,"  she  said, 
as  they  walked  side  by  side  towards  the  house.  "  I  ought  to 
have  been  at  home,  when  I  knew  you  were  to  repeat  your  visit. 
Am  I  right  in  thinking  that  you  were  here  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  called  while  you  were  absent,  and  left  my  name 
with  the  little  girl  who  came  to  the  door." 

"  Biddy  forgot  your  name.  And  you  inquired  the  way, 
this  morning,  of  the  friend  at  whose  house  I  have  been  this 
afternoon,  but  her  information  was  quite  as  iadefinite  as  Bid 
dy's.  So  your  visit  has  been  a  pleasant  little  mystery." 

"  You  have  had  a  long  walk,  if  you  have  not  rested  since 
you  left  your  friend's  house,  and  must  be  tired,"  Mr.  Rus 
sell  said,  as  he  brought  a  chair  for  Margaret,  and  another  for 
himself,  and  placed  them  in  the  little  vine-sheltered  porch. 

"  The  walk  through  the  woods  and  across  the  fields  is 
much  shorter  than  by  the  road,"  said  Margaret. 

"And  much  pleasanter,  I  have  no  doubt,"  replied  Mr. 


280  MAKGAKET : 

Russell  "I  rode  over  from  Moresville  this  morning,  and, 
not  finding  you  at  home,  made  my  friend  Mrs.  Davis  a  visit. 
But  I  did  not  like  to  return  without  seeing  you,  and  giving 
you  tidings  of  your  protege,  Chloe.  Perhaps  you  already 
know,"  he  added,  "  that  she  is  with  my  aunt,  Mrs.  More." 

"  Yes  ;  I  heard  yesterday,  to  my  delight,  that  Chloe  had 
fallen  into  such  kind  hands." 

"  But  she  is  faithful  to  her  first  friend ;  she  seems  to  con 
sider  her  return  to  'Miss  Marg'et'  merely  a  question  of 
time." 

If  Mr.  Russell  could  have  known  the  thrill  with  which 
Margaret  heard  him  utter  her  name,  even  in  Chloe's  dialect, 
or  if  she  had  known  the  reverent  tenderness  with  which  it 
was  spoken — 

"I  am  quite  contented  about  Chloe,"  Margaret  said, 
"  now  that  I  know  she  is  safe  and  happy.  I  was  only  troubled 
about  her  while  I  thought  her  a  little  homeless  wanderer." 

"  I  think  my  aunt  will  hardly  be  satisfied  not  to  restore 
her  to  you.  She  returned  from  New  York  only  yesterday, 
and  notwithstanding  her  fatigue,  she  was  inclined  to  drive 
over  with  Chloe  ;  but  I  persuaded  her  to  let  me  come  to-day 
in  her  stead." 

Margaret  was  saved  the  necessity  of  replying,  by  the 
appearance  of  the  boys,  who  came  through  the  kitchen  into 
the  sitting-room  with  lagging,  weary  steps.  George  threw 
himself  on  the  sofa  with  an  "  Oh,  dear  me,  if  I  ain't  tired !  " 
that  was  like  a  groan.  Jack,  espying  his  aunt  on  the  door 
step,  dropped  down  beside  her,  laying  his  head,  ragged  straw 
hat  and  all,  in  her  lap. 

"  Well,  Jackie,"  she  said,  taking  off  the  hat,  and  pushing 
the  damp  hair  from  his  forehead,  "  you  have  had  a  very  long 
day  of  it.  Did  you  get  all  the  wheat  in  ?  " 

"  Are  you  there,  Aunty  ?  "  called  George  from  the  sofa. 
"  Yes,  we  did  get  every  bit  of  it  in ;  but  if  we  didn't  have 
to  work  hard  for  it,  then  I  don't  know." 

"  Did  you  come  in  for  your  supper,  or  have  you  been  too 
busy  to  be  hungry  since  dinner  ?  " 


A   STOEY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE   HOME.  281 

"  Oh,  my,  no  !  We  couldn't  have  stood  it  all  this  time. 
"We  didn't  stop  to  fix  up  much,  though  ;  we  just  took  off  our 
hats  and  washed  our  faces,  and  pitched  in" 

"  Georgie  !  "  Margaret  exclaimed  ;  while  Jack,  lifting  his 
head  to  look  into  her  face,  saw  Mr.  Russell  for  the  first  time. 
He  got  up  after  a  brief  inspection  of  the  stranger,  and,  going 
to  George,  whispered  something  that  made  him  start  to  his  feet. 

"  Georgie,  come  here,"  said  Margaret.  George  came, 
looking  decidedly  ashamed.  "  This  is  my  nephew,  George 
Sinclair,  Mr.  Russell ;  and  this  is  his  brother  John." 

"  You  seem  to  have  had  a  long  and  hard  day's  work," 
Mr.  Russell  said,  as  he  took  the  hand  of  each ;  but  his  eyes 
lingered  on  George's  face,  its  expression  having  changed 
from  that  of  mortification  to  one  of  eager,  curious  inquiry. 

At  any  other  time  George  would  have  satisfied  his  curi 
osity  by  a  straightforward  question ;  but,  still  feeling  some 
what  disgraced  and  self-conscious,  he  withdrew  his  hand 
from  Mr.  Russell's,  and,  in  a  whisper,  asked  the  question  of 
his  aunt,  "  Is  that  the  Davises'  Mr.  Russell  ?  " 

"  George  has  heard  of  you  before,  Mr.  Russell,"  Marga 
ret  said,  smiling ;  "  his  friends  and  your  friends,  Charlie  and 
Nellie  Davis,  have  made  your  name  quite  a  familiar  one  to 
him  and  Jack." 

"  Indeed  !  then  I  need  not  have  waited  for  a  formal  in 
troduction,  for  I'm  not  afraid  but  that  Charlie  and  Nellie 
have  given  good  accounts  of  me.  They  are  my  stanch 
friends,  I  believe." 

"Did  you  like  to  live  in  China,  Mr.  Russell?"  asked 
George — too  much  charmed  at  having  a  chance  to  talk  with 
his  ideal,  to  stop  for  any  preliminaries. 

"  Not  very  much,  George ;  I  like  America  better.  But 
why  do  you  wish  to  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I'm  going  there  when  I'm  a  man — as  soon  as  I'm 
big  enough  to  cross  the  ocean,  I  guess.  I'm  going  to  live 
there  till  I  get  rich  ;  and  I'd  like  to  know  if  it's  a  nice  place  ?' 

"  Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  it  is  not  a  nice  place.  If  I 
were  you,  I  would  not  leave  my  own  country." 


282  .         MARGARET  : 

"  Oh,  bat  you  see  I  must.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  long 
ago." 

"  How  long  ago  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell,  much  amused  at 
George's  emphatic  manner. 

"  I  made  it  up  last  winter,  one  Sunday,  when  we  were  at 
Mr.  Davis'.  They  told  us  that  you  went  to  China,  and  got 
ever  so  much  money.  I'm  going,  and  when  I  get  home  I 
shall  build  a  beautiful  house,  and  Aunt  Margaret  will  live 
with  me ;  she's  going  to  take  care  of  me — no,  I'm  going 
to  take  care  of  her.  I  shall  be  old  enough  then." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  was  the  Sunday  that  I  was  at  Mr.  Davis' 
house.  Do  you  know,  George  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell. 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  was,"  exclaimed  George.  "  I  know,  'cause 
we  went  to  meeting  in  the  red  school-house,  and  then  went 
home  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Davis  to  dinner,  and  they  talked 
about  you  half  the  time.  Didn't  you  see  us  at  meeting  ?  " 

"  No,  Georgie,  I  did  not.  But  I  have  often  thought  of 
that  day." 

"It  was  a  wonderful  day  for  George  and  Jack,"  said 
Margaret.  "  They  had  so  little  variety  then,  that  it  seemed 
a  great  event  to  go  several  miles  to  meeting.  Since  they 
have  lived  in  St.  Louis  they  are  less  easily  enchanted." 

"Are  you  going  to  Charlie  Davis's  again,  Mr.  Russell?" 
asked  George. 

"  Yes,  I  expect  to  spend  the  night  there,  Georgie.  Can 
I  take  any  message  for  you  ?  " 

"I  wish  you'd  please  tell  Charlie  and  Nellie  that  we 
want  them  to  come  here,  now  the  hurry  of  wheat  is  over." 

"I  will  tell  them  so,  with  pleasure,"  Mr.  Russell  replied, 
and  rising,  turned  to  Margaret.  "  My  aunt  sent  her  regards 
to  you,  and  charged  me  to  say  that  as  soon  as  she  is  suffi 
ciently  rested  for  so  long  a  drive,  she  will  call  upon  you." 

"  She  is  very  kind  ;  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  her,"  answered 
Margaret. 

"  Sha'n't  you  come  here  any  more,  Mr.  Russell  ?  "  asked 
George. 

"I  hoped  to  come  again," — looking  towards  Margaret. 


A  STORY  OF  LIFE  IN  A   PRAIRIE  HOME.  283 

"  We  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Margaret. 

A  quiet  good-by  was  said,  and  Mr.  Russell  mounted  his 
horse  and  rode  away,  casting  but  one  look  at  the  white  fig 
ure  in  the  doorway.  If  he  had  looked  again  he  would  not 
have  seen  it,  though  an  eager  ear  listened  to  catch  the  last 
sound  of  his  horse's  hoofs  as  it  died  away  on  the  evening  air. 

"  Come,  my  dears,  it  is  time  for  such  busy  little  farmers 
to  be  in  bed.  You  will  hardly  be  rested  by  morning." 

They  went  up-stairs,  and  when  they  were  in  bed,  George 
exclaimed,  "I  never  was  so  ashamed  in  all  my  life  as  to 
have  Mr.  Russell  hear  me  say  'pitched  in.'  Aunt  Marga 
ret,  wasn't  it  dreadful  ?  " 

"The  dreadful  part  of  it  was  that  you  said  it  at  all, 
Georgie,"  replied  Margaret,  "  not  that  Mr.  Russell  heard  it, 
though  that  was  quite  bad  enough.  But  do  you  think  you 
will  be  likely  to  forget,  and  say  it  again,  or  any  thing  like 
it?" 

"No,  indeed,  I  guess  not!  I  want  to  be  just  like  Mr. 
Russell  when  I'm  a  man.  I  think  he's  splendid.  What  is 
his  aunt  coming  here  for  ?  " 

Margaret  did  not  care  to  excite  them  by  telling  the 
facts  about  Mrs.  More  and  Chloe ;  besides,  she  longed  to  be 
alone.  So,  saying  that  she  would  answer  their  questions  in 
the  morning,  she  left  them. 

Seated  by  the  window,  looking  out  into  the  night,  un 
mindful  of  the  occasional  flashes  of  lightning  and  the  distant 
thunder,  she  lived  over  again  that  strange,  dream-like  meet 
ing  ;  and  thoughts  and  feelings — a  changeful,  restless,  weary 
ing  throng — pressed  upon  her. 

But  as  the  storm  gathered  strength,  until  the  heavens 
and  earth  were  made  glorious  by  the  incessant  lightning, 
and  the  thunder  pealed  in  terrible  majesty,  the  tumult  was 
stilled ;  and  when,  far  on  in  the  night,  the  storm  had  spent 
itself  and  the  stars  came  out,  the  elements  themselves  were 
not  more  peaceful  than  her  spirit. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

A  heavy  heart,  Beloved,  have  I  borne 
From  year  to  year,  until  I  saw  thy  face. 

I  find  thce  :  I  am  safe  and  strong  and  glad.        MRS.  BROWNING. 

AT  the  last  moment,  Mrs.  Move's  son,  who  was  to  have 
accompanied  her  home,  found  it  impossible  to  do  so,  and 
Mr.  Russell  proposed  to  take  his  place  as  her  escort.  Noth 
ing  could  have  pleased  her  more  than  such  an  arrangement — 
inasmuch  as  her  son  was  to  visit  her  later  in  the  season — for 
the  wish  of  her  heart  was  that  Robert  and  Margaret  should 
meet ;  and  she  said  to  herself  that  if  once  Robert  were  in 
Moresville,  it  could  be  easily  brought  about.  It  might  not 
result  in  any  thing — again  it  might. 

If  Margaret  had  changed,  and  grown  unlovely,  which 
was  not  at  all  likely,  it  would  be  well  to  find  it  out,  for  then 
Robert  would  cease  to  care  for  her.  On  the  other  hand,  who 
could  tell  but  that  she  had  been  caring  for  him  through 
all  these  years  ?  She  never  had  known  just  why  the  en 
gagement  was  broken.  But  if  she  were  worthy  of  being 
loved  through  nine  years  of  separation,  she  must  surely  have 
felt  what  she  professed  to  feel,  and  any  one  who  had  once 
loved  Robert  could  never  cease  to  love  him;  there  must 
have  been  some  misunderstanding,  which  a  meeting  might 
do  away  with,  even  now. 

Of  all  these  thoughts  she  said  not  a  word  to  her  nephew. 
She  did  not  even  venture  to  ask  him  to  go  with  her  when 
she  proposed  to  drive  over,  the  day  after  their  arrival.  Her 
little  guileless  plot  was  to  see  for  herself,  under  pretence  of 
restoring  Chloe  ;  feeling  sure  that  her 'woman's  instinct 
would  tell  her  whether  Margaret  had  forgotten  the  past, 
as  well  as  whether  she  were  worthy  of  the  heart  that  had 
been  so  faithful  to  her.  She  had  already  persuaded  Mr. 
Russell  to  spend  two  or  three  weeks  with  her,  which  he  was 


A    STOKY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  285 

the  more  ready  to  do  as  Mrs.  Rice  and  her  daughter  were 
absent  on  a  visit ;  with  only  his  aunt's  gentle  presence,  the 
house  possessed  an  inexpressible  charm  for  him. 

She  thought  she  did  not  betray  her  surprise  and  pleasure 
when  Mr.  Russell  said,  "You  are  too  tired,  Aunt  Clara,  to 
take  such  a  long  drive  so  soon  after  your  journey.  Let  me 
go  to-day  and  tell  Miss  Crosby  that  you  will  come,  when 
you  are  rested,  and  bring  Chloe  with  you." 

She  did  not  know  that  her  eyes  sparkled,  that  her  face 
glowed  Avith  delight  at  this  unexpected  furtherance  of  her 
plan,  clearly  betraying  what  had  been  half  guessed  before. 

"  How  glad  she  will  be  to  hear  about  Chloe,"  she  said, 
"  and  how  surprised,  too." 

"  I  doubt  if  she  will  be  surprised,"  returned  Mr.  Russell. 
"  It  would  be  strange  if  she  had  not  heard  of  her  where 
abouts,  through  Mr.Doane,  either  directly  or  indirectly,  before 
this  time." 

Somehow,  Mrs.  More  did  not  care  to  hear  Mr.  Doane's 
name  in  connection  with  Margaret's. 

Mr.  Russell  gave  her  a  bright  smile  in  return  for  her 
wistful  look  as  he  rode  away,  but  her  thoughts  followed  him. 
She  almost  regretted  having  urged  him  not  to  return  that 
night,  so  much  did  she  long  to  know  whether  his  visit  had 
made  him  sad  or  glad. 

It  would  have  made  her  very  sorrowful  to  have  seen  his 
face,  and  felt  the  burden  of  his  thoughts,  as  he  left  Margaret 
in  the  deepening  twilight. 

It  was  not  that  he  had  found  Margaret  changed.  Time 
had  only  ripened  her  girlish  loveliness  into  mature  womanly 
graces  ;  her  life's  discipline  of  mind  and  heart  had  clrist'lk-d 
its  holy  effects  in  delicate,  intangible  touches  upon  her  fair 
face ;  and  she  had  received  him  kindly,  leaving  him  at  liberty 
to  repeat  his  visit. 

But  while  he  sat  in  her  presence,  she  had  seemed  farther 
from  him  than  when  thousands  of  miles  lay  between  them ; 
for  he  felt  that  if  the  memory  of  the  past  had  not  wholly  died 
out  in  her  heart,  she  could  not,  taken  at  unawares  as  he  sup- 


286  MARGARET  : 

posed,  have  received  him  as  an  acquaintance  of  to-day,  with 
such  calm,  unfalterifig,  unremembering  eyes.  He  asked  him 
self  what  he  had  expected.  Had  he  not  known  for  many 
years  that  she  never  loved  him  ?  and  had  he  looked  for  tokens 
of  that  which  never  existed  ?  He  was  forced  to  acknowledge 
that,  deep  down  in  his  secret  heart,  there  had  been  a  hope 
that  an  unseen  tie  bound  them  together  all  these  years,  whose 
existence  might  be  revealed  when  they  should  meet ;  while 
he  had  said  to  himself,  "  Her  life  must  have  been  a  sorely 
tried  one ;  now  she  is  alone — not  friendless,  but  her  father  is 
dead  and  her  sister  man-ied.  I  must  see  her  and  know  that 
she  is  happy." 

She  was  clearly  happy ;  her  trials  had  left  no  dark,  blight 
ing  shadow  behind  ;  she  had  proved  her  power  to  dwell  in 
unfading  sunshine,  to  brighten  and  adorn  circumstances, 
however  homely  and  matter-of-fact  they  might  be.  There 
fore  he  need  have  "  no  fear  for  what  the  future  might  bring" 
to  her,  though  he  walked  not  by  her  side.  But  for  himself, 
his  unacknowledged  hope  had  been  as  a  glimpse  of  unspeak 
able  brightness,  which,  shut  from  his  sight,  had  left  him  in 
utter  night,  darker  than  he  had  ever  known  ;  for  the  love  of 
all  those  years  seemed  concentrated  into  that  hour.  He  felt 
that  he  should  hardly  dare  to  see  her  again,  lest  the  deep 
yearning  of  his  heart  for  her  love  might  make  itself  heard  in 
spite  of  himself,  only  to  distress  and  trouble  her.  Time 
would  soothe  his  pain,  as  it  had  done  before,  and  be  might 
be  able  to  think  of  her  calmly,  as  of  some  saintly  vision  that 
had  been  sent  to  bear  a  lesson  of  heavenly  import,  whose  full 
meaning  he  could  never  learn  in  this  life. 

Absorbed  in  such  thoughts,  he  arrived  at  Mrs.  Davis's. 
and  the  children,  who  had  been  allowed  to  sit  up  just  long 
enough  to  see  him  and  bid  him  good  night,  came  to  the  door. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Russell,  come  in  quick  !  Ain't  you  afraid  of 
the  thunder  and  lightning?" 

"  Not  a  bit,  Charlie,"  replied  Mr.  Russell,  "  are  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am,  when  it  thunders  very  loud.  Did  you  see 
George  and  Jack  ?  " 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A    PEAIRIE    HOME.  287 

"  Yes,  I  saw  them,  and  they  sent  you  an  invitation  by  me 
to  come  and  see  them,  now  that  the  hurry  of  getting  in  the 
•wheat  is  over." 

"  Getting  in  the  wheat !  What  difference  does  that  make 
about  going  there,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  You  would  think  it  made  a  great  deal,  if  you  had  seen 
them  come  in  from  the  field  as  I  did,  looking  like  two  little 
hard-working  farmers.  They  had  been  out  all  the  afternoon, 
I  believe." 

"  I  don't  see  what  fun  there  can  be  in  that,"  said  Charlie  j 
"such  hot  weather, too." 

"  They  did  not  seem  to  think  it  was  for  fun.  I  presume, 
if  you  were  to  ask  them  about  it,  they  would  tell  you  they 
were  obliged  to  help  because  it  was  going  to  rain." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  we  weren't  there  to-day,  'cause  George 
always  makes  us  do  what  he  says,  and  go  where  he  wants  us 
to.  He's  first-rate  to  play  with,  though ;  we  always  have  good 
times  when  we  go  there,  or  they  come  here.  But  isn't  their 
Aunt  Margaret  nice  ?  " 

"  Very,"  replied  Mr.  Russell. 

"  There,  children,  now  you  must  say  good-night,"  said 
Mrs.  Davis,  making  her  appearance  at  that  moment.  When 
the  children  were  gone,  she  and  Mr.  Russell  seated  them 
selves  by  the  library-window  to  watch  the  coming  storm. 

"  I  am  curious,  as  well  as  Charlie,"  Mrs.  Davis  said,  "  to 
know  what  you  think  of  our  favorite.  It  is  so  long  since 
you  knew  her,  that  perhaps  you  may  not  be  able  to  judge; 
but  do  you  think  she  looks  and  seems  as  she  used  to  ?  " 

"I  think  she  does,"  replied  Mr.  Russell,  "though  it  could 
hardly  be  possible  for  any  one  to  have  several  years'  experi 
ence  of  life  and  remain  wholly  unchanged." 

"  Her  life  has  indeed  been  a  trying  one,  at  least  since  we 
have  known  her.  I  know  very  little  of  her  life  previous  to 
their  coming  to  the  farm,  for  Margaret  never  talks  of  herself, 
and  no  one  could  imagine,  from  what  she  says,  that  she  had 
ever  known  or  aspired  to  any  thing  more  easy  and  elegant 
than  looking  after  the  farm,  and  taking  care  of  her  father 


288  MAEGAEET : 

and  sister  and  her  sister's  children.  But,  from  chance  remarks 
of  Mr.  Crosby's  and  Mrs.  Sinclair's,  I  have  gathered  that 
they  once  lived  very  handsomely,  and  that  it  was  a  great 
trial  for  them  to  come  West  and  settle  on  a  farm." 

"  It  must  hare  been  a  very  great  trial,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 
"  It  all  occurred  while  I  was  in  China ;  I  never  have  heard 
any  particulars." 

"  You  did  not  even  know  where  they  were  living,  did  you, 
until  now  ?  " 

"  I  only  knew  that  they  were  somewhere  in  the  West." 

"  Wasn't  it  generally  known  among  their  friends  in  New 
York  where  they  were  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  generally." 

"  It  seems  strange,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  "  that  a  family  of 
any  position  could  drop  out  of  it  and  leave  no  gap  behind — 
be  so  easily  lost  sight  of.  Yet  I  believe  I  can  undei  stand  it. 
Mr.  Crosby  was  a  man  of  not  much  force,  probably  absorbed 
in  business,  with  little  influence  outside  of  it ;  and  Mrs.  Sin 
clair  must  have  been  rather  a  devotee  of  fashion,  who  would 
not  make  herself  felt  very  much,  except  in  the  sphere  where 
people  soon  forget.  But  I  can't  see  how  Margaret  should  so 
easily  drop,  unnoticed,  out  of  any  circle." 

"  Miss  Crosby,  I  think,  never  cared  much  for  society.  Her 
interests  were  more  within  her  home." 

"I  have  often  wished,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  "that  Margaret 
would  tell  me  something  about  her  mother.  I  never  heard 
her  refer  to  her  but  once,  and  then  it  was  with  such  an  evi 
dent  effort  that  I  didn't  like  to  ask  any  questions,  or  introduce 
the  subject  again.  But  I  have  always  had  the  impression  that 
Mrs.  Crosby  was  a  very  lovely  woman,  and  that  Margaret 
resembles  her." 

"  She  was  very  admirable,  I  know,"  replied  Mr.  Russell, 
"though  she  died  before  I  became  acquainted  with  the 
family." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  while  they  both  watched  the 
lightning  play  among  the  clouds,  and  listened  to  the  thun 
der  ;  and  then  Mrs.  Davis  said,  "  It  was  very  strange  that 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A  PKAIRIE    HOME.  289 

you  should  have  just  missed  each  other  the  Sunday  that  you 
were  here.  Did  I  tell  you  that  Margaret  and  the  boys  came 
home  with  us  from  the  school-house  to  dinner  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  mentioned  it." 

"  I  should  think  you  would  have  seen  each  other  there. 
But  I  suppose,  not  having  met  for  so  many  years,  and 
not  in  the  least  expecting  to  meet  then,  you  might  al 
most  have  looked  into  each  other's  faces  and  not  have 
known  it." 

Mr.  Russell  made  no  reply,  and  Mrs.  Davis  went  on  :  "I 
really  was  quite  disconsolate  that  you  could  not  come 
home  with  us,  too.  I  had  a  feeling,  as  I  told  Mrs.  Sinclair, 
afterwards,  that  you  would  he  kindred  spirits — you  think 
alike  on  so  many  subjects — little  imagining  that  you  had 
ever  been  acquainted.  Poor  Margaret !  that  day  was  the 
beginning  of  a  series  of  troubles  for  her." 

"  What  were  you  saying  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell,  as  Mrs. 
Davis,  having  been  interrupted  by  a  loud  peal  of  thunder, 
did  not  at  once  resume  her  remarks. 

"  Oh,  yes,  about  Margaret's  troubles.  She  was  ill  that 
day ;  she  came  home  with  us  looking  like  a  ghost,  and  was 
very  ill  for  two  or  three  weeks;  that  very  day  Chloe  was 
stolen,  and  it  was  a  source  of  great  pain  and  anxiety,  she 
had  become  so  interested  in  the  poor  little  thing.  Then  came 
her  sister's  marriage — not  that  this  was  a  trial,  except  that 
it  took  the  boys  from  her,  and  she  missed  them  so  sadly ;  but 
she  had  every  thing  to  do  to  get  Mrs.  Sinclair  ready  for  her 
marriage,  she  was  so  inefficient  herself.  Her  father's  last  ill 
ness  followed,  during  which  she  hardly  left  his  side,  and  then 
his  death,  which  Margai-et  felt  very  much.  I  supposed,  of 
course,  that  she  would  give  up  the  farm,  and  go  to  St.  Louis, 
to  live  with  her  sister.  But  she  seems  very  anxious  to  re 
main  where  she  is,  and  I  am  selfish  enough  to  hope  she  may  ; 
we  should  miss  her  so  dreadfully,  though  I  am  ai'raid  she  will 
be  very  lonely." 

"  I  hear  your  voice  in  a  very  continuous  flow,  Jenny,  but 
I  can't  see  you  in  this  pitchy  darkness,"  said  Mr.  Davis, 


290  MAKGABET  I 

standing  in  the  library-door.  "  Oh,  there  you  are,"  he  added, 
as  a  flash  made  the  room  as  light  as  day. 

"  Really,"  said  Mrs.  Davis,  "  I  have  been  so  busy  talking, 
that  I  haven't  thought  of  lamps.  Please  ask  Ann  to  bring 
them,  Charles ;  though  it  has  been  pleasant  without,  don't 
you  think  so,  Mr.  Russell  ?  " 

"  I  do,  indeed,"  replied  Mr.  Russell. 

When  -Mr.  Davis  came  back,  Mrs.  Davis  said,  "I  have 
been  talking  to  Mr.  Russell  all  this  time  of  our  Margaret — of 
all  she  has  done  and  borne." 

"  It  is  a  fruitful  subject  for  you,  my  dear,"  returned  Mr. 
Davis  ;  "  I  hope  Mr.  Russell  will  not  soon  tire  of  it,  for  I  am 
sure  you  will  not  soon  finish  your  tale." 

"For  shame,  Charles,  to  intimate  that  I  could  tire  any 
body  with  my  conversation,  whatever  the  subject,  but 
especially  when  it  is  Margaret.  I  was  just  speaking  of  the 
Sunday  that  she  was  taken  sick ;  it  was  such  a  strange  sick 
ness — nervous  exhaustion,  I  think  the  doctor  called  it.  You 
remember,  dear,  how  terribly  pale  she  looked  when  the 
service  was  over ;  I  had  to  speak  to  her  two  or  three  times 
before  she  seemed  to  notice ;  and  that  was  only  the  begin 
ning.  But  perhaps  I  am  in  danger  of  growing  tiresome ;  so 
I  will  leave  you  and  Mr.  Russell  to  choose  your  own  topics, 
while  I  go  and  see  if  the  children  are  frightened  by  the 
storm.  It  is  getting  really  fearful,  isn't  it  ? "  She  went 
away  with  a  complacent  smile  on  her  lips,  saying  to  herself, 
*'  Now,  if  those  things  do  belong  together  on  the  same  chain, 
why,  then Nellie,  dear,  is  the  storm  keeping  you  awake  ?  " 

When  the  children,  comforted  by  her  presence,  had 
fallen  asleep,  she  went  down-stairs. 

"  I  came  expressly  to  send  Mr.  Russell  to  bed,"  she  said. 
"  After  so  much  riding,  you  must  be  perfectly  tired  out." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Mr.  Russell ;  "  though  I  am 
quite  ready  to  obey  your  commands." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  have  been  thinking  how  strange  it  is 
that  Mrs.  More  and  we  have  never  visited,"  said  Mrs.  Davis. 

"  I  am  sure  that  is  easily  accounted  for,  Jenny,"  said  her 


A     TORY   OF   LIFE   IN 


husband;  "we  have  always  been  very  busy  people,  with 
little  time  for  visiting." 

"  And  my  aunt  has  never  visited  much  out  of  Moresville. 
She  would  be  glad  to  have  you  for  neighbors.  I  have  heard 
her  say  as  much." 

"  Well,  you  said  that  she  was^coming  over  to  bring  Chloe 
to  Miss  Crosby  ;  and  I  want  you  to  promise  me  that  you  will 
bring  her  here,  without  fail.  If  you  came  after  a  few  days, 
it  would  be  moonlight,  and  you  could  drive  home  in  the  eve 
ning." 

"  I  may  safely  promise,  for  my  aunt,  that  she  will  at  least 
call  upon  you  ;  and  for  myself,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  come 
with  her." 

"  Well,  I  shall  look  for  you." 

In  the  solitude  of  his  room,  Mr.  Russell  reasoned  with 
the  new  hope  that  had  sprung  into  life  in  his  heart.  What 
was  there  in  the  fact  that  Margaret  had  been  taken  ill  that 
day,  that  he  should  connect  it  with  his  having  been  at  the 
school-house  when  she  was  there  ?  He  did  not  see  her  face  ; 
why  should  he  suppose  she  saw  his  ?  He  remembered  that 
he  had  sung  ;  but  could  he  dream  that  she  recognized  his 
voice  ?  If  she  did,  what  presumptuous  folly  to  imagine 
that  she  could  have  been  so  moved  then,  and  so  calm  to-day, 
when  equally  taken  by  surprise. 

But  where  were  the  inevitable,  fixed  conclusions  he  had 
so  lately  accepted  ?  All  his  reasoning  did  not  bring  back  the 
dreariness  and  gloom  that  had  possessed  him  during  his  ride, 
or  shut  out  the  sweet  hope  that  seemed  to  grow  stronger 
with  every  argument  he  used  to  subdue  it,  till  at  length  he 
yielded  to  its  influence  ;  and  when  the  storm  was  past,  and 
peace  had  fallen  from  the  skies,  he  had  said,  "  I  will  not  see 
her  until  she  knows  that,  as  I  loved  her  once,  I  love  her  now 
—  have  loved  her  through  all  these  years,  and  shall  love  her 
to  the  end.  I  will  write,  and  tell  her  my  story  —  perhaps  this 
delicious  dream,  from  which  I  cannot  and  would  not  awake, 
may  come  true,  and  the  mystery  of  our  parting  be  dispelled." 

The  morning  after  the  storm  sparkled  with  sunshine  and 


292  MARGAEET : 

freshness ;  rain-drops  glistened  on  every  leaf  and  twig,  and 
the  birds  vied  with  each  other  in  singing  their  loudest,  sweet 
est  songs.  Nature  had  come  forth  glorious  and  exultant 
from  the  fiery  and  watery  ordeal  of  the  past  night,  and  Mr. 
Russell's  heart  was  in  tune  with  her  gladness. 

"  You  must  not  hurry  away,"  Mrs.  Davis  said,  as  they 
stood  at  the  door,  after  breakfast ;  "  I  am  going  to  take  you 
somewhere  with  me  this  morning.  I  have  an  errand  to  do, 
three  or  four  miles  from  here,  in  the  opposite  direction  from 
Moresville,  and  you  will  see  something  new  in  the  way  of 
prairie-scenery." 

Mr.  Russell  was  impatient  to  be  where  he  could  pen  his 
story  to  Margaret,  but  having  no  reason  to  give  Mrs.  Davis 
for  haste,  waited  for  the  drive. 

"  I  suppose  you  recognize  the  little  school-house  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Davis,  as  they  approached  it. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  recognized  it  at  once." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  the  meeting  between  Chloe  and 
Margaret,"  Mrs.  Davis  said,  presently,  when  they  had  passed 
the  school-house ;  "  and,  by  the  way,  I  was  thinking,  last 
night,  of  a  little  thing  that  might  have  shown  me  that  you 
and  the  Crosbys  were  not  strangers.  When  I  called  to  see 
Margaret,  while  she  was  sick,  we  were  speaking  of  that 
Sunday — down-stairs,  before  I  had  seen  Margaret.  I  chanced 
to  mention  your  name,  and  I  noticed  something  very  peculiar 
in  Mrs.  Sinclair's  look  and  manner,  which  of  course  meant 
that  it  was  not  unknown  to  her.  Nothing  was  said,  naturally 
enough,  as  we  were  too  absorbed  in  poor  Margaret ;  and  it 
wasn't  important,  either,  only  you  know  that  we  who  live  in 
the  country  think  more  of  liltle  things,  like  coincidences  and 
discoveries,  than  you  who  live  in  cities,  and  have  so  much 
more  to  occupy  your  minds." 

"  Even  we  who  live  in  cities  are  sometimes  interested  in 
such  little  things,"  returned  Mr.  Russell ;  and  Mrs.  Davis, 
feeling  that  she  bad  brought  out  every  point  that  could  help 
him  to  a  conclusion,  if  he  ought  to  arrive  at  one,  without 
seeming  to  have  an  end  in  view,  settled  it  in  her  own  mind 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   TKAIEIE    HOME.  293 

that  she  had  said  enough  ;  she  would  wait  now,  and  see  what 
came  of  it  all,  if  any  thing. 

When  they  reached  home,  it  was  dinner-time  ;  of  course, 
Mr.  Russell  could  not  go  then,  and  Mr.  Thomas  came  as  they 
were  leaving  the  table,  so  that  it  was  the  middle  of  the  after 
noon  before  he  could  start  on  his  homeward  ride. 

It  was  a  little  out  of  his  way  to  go  by  Miss  Patty's,  but 
he  thought  he  would  like  to  see  the  place  where  a  friend  of 
Margaret's  lived.  There  was  no  one  in  sight  when  he 
approached  the  little  house.  Miss  Patty  had  sat  at  the 
window  when  he  stopped  the  day  before  to  ask  the  way, 
but  now  the  curtains  were  drawn.  The  door  stood  a  little 
open,  and  he  wondered  if  Margaret  had  passed  within  it  that 
day. 

Whether  she  had  or  not,  there  she  was,  in  the  woods  on 
the  other  side  of  the  road.  He  could  not  see  her  clearly,  for 
the  woods  lay  a  little  distance  from  the  road  ;  leafy  branches, 
too,  intervened,  and  then  she  was  sitting  with  her  face  from 
him.  But  he  needed  only  the  glimpse  of  the  dress  and  figure 
to  tell  him  that  it  was  Margaret,  and  with  an  impulse  he  did 
not  attempt  to  resist,  he  dismounted,  fastened  his  horse  to 
the  fence,  and  walked  towards  her. 

His  step  on  the  soft  grass  was  noiseless,  and  he  came 
within  a  little  distance  of  Margaret  without  her  becoming 
conscious  of  his  approach.  He  stood  there  as  motionless  as 
she,  looking  at  her  with  tenderly  questioning  eyes  and  long 
ing,  hungry  heart,  noting  the  drooping  head,  the  delicate 
contour  of  the  cheek  and  throat,  and  the  hands  lying  listlessly 
on  her  lap.  As  he  looked,  a  tear  fell  upon  them,  and  then 
another. 

"  Margaret !  " 

The  utterance  was  involuntary.  He  would  not  have 
chosen  to  startle  her  so,  but  it  was  done,  and  she  stood  before 
him,  tears  still  trembling  on  her  lashes,  her  eyes  fixed  on  his, 
while  her  color  came  and  went  with  every  Avild  throb  of  her 
heart. 

What  had  become  of  the  barrier  of  mystery  and  years 


294:  MAKGARET  : 

that  had  seemed  so  hopelessly  impassable  but  a  little  time  ago  ? 
Had  those  tears  dissolved  it,  or  had  it  been  gradually  removed 
by  unseen  hands,  so  that  now  they  stood  heart  to  heart  ? 

"  Margaret !  "  Mr.  Russell  said  again.  What  his  eyes 
had  not  told  of  his  story,  that  one  word  must  have  told  ;  for 
when  he  came  to  her  and  held  out  his  hands,  hers  were  laid 
within  them.  They  were  clasped  convulsively ;  quivering 
lips  that  could  not  speak  were  pressed  to  them ;  again  eyes 
filled  with  deepest  love  and  tenderest  chidings  sought  hers. 

"  Oh,  Robert !  "  broke  from  Margaret  then,  "  Why  did 
you  leave  me  ?  " 

"My  beloved,"  he  said,  drawing  her  within  his  arms, 
"  why  did  you  let  me  leave  you  ?  But  we  will  not  think  of 
that  now ;  let  us  forget  that  we  ever  parted."  With  only 
the  leaves  to  whisper  to  each  other  of  the  wonder  they 
beheld,  and  the  gentle,  caressing  breeze  to  listen,  the  happy 
lovers  sat  long  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees. 

Margaret,  seeing  the  deepening  shade,  said  they  must  not 
linger — the  boys  would  not  know  what  had  become  of  her ; 
and  they  had  gone  nearly  through  the  woods  towards  the 
farm-house,  when  Mr.  Russell  suddenly  stopped,  looking  smil 
ingly  down  into  Margaret's  face,  as  she  leaned  upon  his  arm. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  bear  in 
mind  the  commonplaces  of  life  again,"  he  said,  as  he  started 
back  with  her  in  the  direction  from  which  they  had  come. 
"I  left  my  horse  tied  to  the  fence  opposite  your  friend's 
house,"  he  explained,  in  answer  to  her  wondering  exclama 
tion  ;  "  but  whether  he  is  there  still,  remains  to  be  seen." 

"  Oh,  he  is  there,  without  a  doubt,"  replied  Margaret, 
"  unless  he  has  untied  his  own  bridle,  and  walked  away  on  an 
investigating  tour." 

A  sweet,  eloquent  silence  fell  between  them  as  they 
passed  the  place  of  their  meeting,  and  their  walk  home  was 
a  quiet  one ;  few  words  Avere  spoken,  but  the  fulness  of 
happiness  that  each  felt  would  have  been  deemed  an  impossi 
bility  to  either  a  few  hours  before. 

They  went  home  by  the  road,  Mr.  Russell  leading  the 


A    STORY    OF   LIFE   IN   A    TEAIKIE   HOME. 

horse,  and  the  boys  came  to  meet  them,  having  been  on  the 
watch  at  the  gate. 

"  Where've  you  been,  Aunt  Margaret  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"  Why,  Mr.  Russell,  is  that  you  ?  "  cried  George.  "  I 
didn't  know  you  were  coming  again  so  soon." 

"  I  did  not  either,  George.  I  am  as  much  surprised  as 
you  are  ;  but  I  hope  you  are  glad  to  see  me." 

"  I  guess  I  am  !  If  you're  going  to  stay  to  tea,  I'll  lead 
your  horse  to  Jotham  to  take  care  of." 

"  Your  aunt  has  invited  me,  and  I  am  going  to  stay  to 
tea,"  replied  Mr.  Russell.  "  Shall  I  deliver  the  bridle  to  this 
doughty  squire  ?  "  he  asked  of  Margaret. 

"  Yes,  you  may ;  but,  Georgie  dear,  remember  your 
adventure  last  winter,  and  don't  attempt  to  mount  this 
horse." 

"  I  just  wish  Mr.  Russell  would  put  me  on  his  back,  and 
walk  behind  me  while  I  ride  to  the  barn,"  said  George,  with 
a  shade  of  apology  in  his  manner  for  asking  so  much. 

Mr.  Russell  said  of  course  he  would.  Margaret  said  that, 
as  he  was  to  be  so  well  employed,  she  would  leave  him,  and 
attend  to  Biddy.  So,  while  Mr.  Russell  gave  George,  and 
Jack  too — though  George  demurred  a  little  at  sharing  his 
pleasure — their  first  riding-lesson,  up  and  down  the  road  and 
out  to  the  barn,  Margaret  busied  herself  about  the  tea,  which 
was  soon  ready,  and  was  all  that  the  most  critical  eye  and 
fastidious  taste  could  desire. 

As  they  were  about  to  take  their  seats  at  the  table, 
George  exclaimed,  "Mr.  Russell,  you  may  have  my  place. 
You  are  next  best  to  Aunt  Margaret,  and  ought  to  sit  oppo 
site  to  her." 

"  Thank  you  for  allowing  me  the  honor,  Georgie,"  said 
Mr.  Russell,  taking  the  seat,  with  a  look  at  Margaret  that 
made  her  cheeks  glow  ;  then,  as  they  bowed  their  heads,  he 
said,  in  tones  that  thrilled  her  heart,  "  For  all  Thy  wonder 
ful  mercies,  O  Lord,  make  us  truly  thankful." 

The  conversation  was  chiefly  between  Mr.  Russell  and 
the  boys  during  tea,  though  Margaret  showed  no  lack  of 


206  MARGARET: 

interest.  Every  smile  of  hers,  and  every  glance  ot  her  eyes, 
found  its  way  to  Mr.  Russell's  heart,  but  mingled  with  the 
joy  it  carried,  was  a  feeling  of  pain  that  her  heart  should 
have  been  so  long  shadowed  and  bereaved,  as  well  as  his  own. 

The  eyes  that  sought  Margaret's  so  constantly  left  her 
nothing  to  wish  in  the  language  they  spoke  ;  and  perhaps  it 
was  as  well  that  it  did  seem  not  altogether  real — something 
more  like  a  blissful  dream  than  a  reality — that  her  night  was 
past,  and  the  morning  of  her  joy  had  come. 

"  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  George,  as  they  sat  in  the  porch 
when  tea  was  over,  "  what  do  you  think  I  heard  Jotham  tell 
a  man  to-day  ? — that  he  was  going  to  work  the  farm  with 
shares  !  What  does  that  mean  ?  I  asked  him,  and  he  said  I 
wouldn't  know  any  more  if  he  told  me." 

"  I  suppose  he  meant  on  shares,"  replied  Margaret,  avoid 
ing  Mr.  Russell's  eye. 

"  What's  that  ?— on  shares." 

"  Never  mind  now,  Georgie ;  I  will  tell  you  some  other 
time." 

"  Don't  you  own  the  farm  every  bit,  and  sha'n't  you  tell 
Jotham  what  to  do  any  more  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Well,  then,  what  does  Jotham  talk  as  if  he  was  going 
to  have  every  thing  his  own  way  for  ?  " 

"  Jotham  wants  to  do  the  work  of  the  farm,  and  take  his 
pay  in  wheat  and  oats,  and  such  things." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  he  could  ?  " 

"  Yes,  George,  I  did." 

"  When  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Russell. 

Her  eyes  met  his  against  her  will,  as  she  answered,  "  To 
day." 

"  I  must  start  for  Moresville  immediately,"  he  said,  his 
eyes,  with  the  smile  in  them,  still  holding  Margaret's ;  "  I 
shall  not  reach  there  now  in  time  to  save  my  aunt  some  anx 
iety  on  my  account." 

"  Georgie,  will  you  run  to  the  bam  and  ask  Jotham  tc 
bring  Mr.  Russell's  horse  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 


A   STOEY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIRIE    HOME.  297 

"  Yes,  I  will,  if  he'll  promise  to  come  again,"  replied 
George. 

"  I  surely  will,  Georgie.  That  is  a  very  safe  condition," 
said  Mr.  Russell. 

"  I  never  liked  any  body  in  all  my  life  as  well  as  I  do 
Mr.  Russell,"  said  George,  as  he  and  Jack  ran  towards  the 
barn. 

"  You  don't  like  him  better'n  you  do  Dr.  Doane  and  Mr. 
Doanc,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"  Yes,  I  do— heaps  !  They're  nice  and  good,  and  all  that, 
but  they  don't  begin  to  come  up  to  Mr.  Russell." 

"  And  better'n  Aunt  Margaret,  too  ?  " 

"  No — o  !  of  course  I  don't,"  said  George,  looking  fiercely 
at  Jack  as  they  reached  the  barn. 

"  Well,  you  said  so.  You  said  you  never  liked  any 
body—" 

"  Well,  you  might  know  I  didn't  mean  Aunt  Margaret. 
I  wonder  if  Mr.  Russell  would  like  to  have  Aunt  Margaret 
in  his  house.  I'd  let  him,  if  he  did.  Jotham,  Mr.  Russell 
wants  his  horse." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  seeing  Chloe  on  Monday  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Russell,  when  the  boys  came  back,  leaving  Jotham  to 
follow  with  the  horse. 

"  Oh  my  !  wo.n't  it  be  fun  !  "  cried  Jack. 

"  I  wonder  if  she'll  do  like  this  ?  "  and  George  gave  a  very 
good  representation  of  Chloe's  characteristic  antics. 

"  I  have  seen  her  behave  very  much  like  that,"  said  Mr. 
Russell,  laughing.  "  I  am  curious,  too,  to  see  how  she  will 
bear  the  joy  of  seeing  her  'Miss  Marg'et.'  Good-by, 
George ;  good-by,  Jack." 

He  took  Margaret's  hand,  and  with  a  warm,  lingering 
clasp,  and  a  long  look  into  her  eyes,  left  her.  But  this  time, 
as  far  as  lie  could  see,  as  he  rode  slowly  away,  he  looked  for 
the  white  figure  in  the  door,  knowing  that  loving  eyes  were 
folio  wins:  him. 


13* 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Now  God  be  thanked  for  years  enwrought 

With  love  which  softens  yet; 
Now  God  be  thanked  for  every  thought 
Which  is  so  tender  it  lias  caught 

Earth's  burden  of  regret.  MRS.  BROWNING. 

A  FAIREE  Sabbath  morning  never  dawned  than  that 
upon  which  Margaret  opened  her  eyes  to  wonder  anew  at 
the  great  happiness  which  had  come  to  her  the  day  before. 
Storms  and  g]oom  without  could  not  have  marred  the  bright 
ness  of  the  day  for  her,  but  as  the  sun  shone  and  the  sky 
was  blue,  she  rejoiced  in  it,  and  rejoiced  in  its  being  Sunday, 
so  that  she  need  have  little  to  do  with  work-a-day  things. 
Her  happiness  was  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  the  holy 
day,  for  with  the  child-like  trust  that  had  never  faltered 
through  all  her  trials,  she  recognized  her  Father's  hand,  and 
received  the  blessing  with  deep  thankfulness,  never  thinking 
to  ask  why  it  had  been  delayed  so  long. 

The  thought  of  those  years  of  heart-loneliness  did  not 
cast  one  shadow  over  the  fulness  of  her  content.  She  could 
not  regret  them,  or  covet  their  possession  to  add  to  the 
bright  ones  that  might  be  in  store  for  her;  for  had  not  God 
taken  them  for  His  own  kind  and  wise  purposes  ?  With  the 
sunny  temper  of  a  gentle  child,  she  gathered  her  present 
joys^to  her  heart,  and  left  the  past  and  the  future  unques 
tioned. 

The  one  grief  that  came  in  the  midst  of  her  gladness  had 
been  the  part  her  sister  had  acted. 

"  Then  tell  me,"  Mr.  Russell  said,  when  he  heard  from 
her  lips  that  her  love  had  never  wavered,  "  why  did  you  so 
often  refuse  to  see  me,  disregard  my  notes  of  inquiry,  and 
pass  my  poor  letter  by  without  a  word  of  notice  ?  It  surely 
bore  the  marks  of  sincerity." 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  "  I  never  refused  a  visit 
or  disregarded  a  note  of  yours,  Robert.  That  letter — how 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  299 

could  I  notice  it  ?  It  admitted  of  no  answer.  It  was  simply 
a  farewell,  and  when  I  received  it  you  were  already  on  your 
way  to  China." 

"  I  mean  the  long  letter,  on  the  fate  of  which  my  going 
to  China  depended,  Margaret ;  the  one  in  which  I  laid  bare 
my  heart  to  you,  and  entreated  for  an  explanation  of  the 
change  in  our  relations  to  each  other.  Did  not  that  admit 
of  a  little  notice  ?  " 

"  I  never  received  such  a  letter,"  answered  Margaret, 
almost  stunned  at  the  thought  that  so  small  a  thing  as  the 
miscarriage  of  a  letter  could  have  made  the  history  of  those 
nine  years. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Margaret  ?  "  Mr.  Russell  exclaimed ; 
"  that  you  never  received  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  true  that  I  never  did." 

"  I  cannot  comprehend  it,"  said  Mr.  Russell.  "I  remem 
ber  as  if  it  were  yesterday.  I  called  at  the  door  myself,  and 
had  just  delivered  the  letter  to  the  servant,  with  a  charge  to 
give  it  at  once  to  you,  when  your  sister,  passing  through  the 
hall,  saw  me  and  came  to  the  door.  I  only  waited  to  tell  n  y 
errand — that  I  had  left  a  note  for  you ;  she  said  she  would 
see  that  you  received  it  without  delay.  What  is  it,  Mar 
garet  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously,  for  Margaret's  face  had  grown 
white  as  her  dress,  and  her  eyes,  which  had  been  fixed  on 
his,  were  turned  quickly  away,  but  not  too  soon  for  him  to 
see  the  anguish  in  their  expression. 

She  tried  hard  to  think  that  it  was  a  cruel  suspicion,  the 
conviction  that  came  to  her  with  such  a  shock,  sharpened  by 
the  vivid  recurrence  of  many  things  long  past;  but  whether 
it  were  or  not,  it  was  not  to  be  uttered,  even  to  satisfy  him 
who  sat  waiting  to  know  the  cause  of  her  emotion.  When 
she  could  trust  herself  to  speak,  she  turned  to  him.  "  Rob 
ert,  as  I  told  you,  I  never  received  the  letter.  But  we  are 
happy  now,  and  the  years  we  have  spent  apart  have  not  been 
lost  years,  to  either  of  us ;  shall  we  not  let  the  causes  of  our 
parting  rest,  with  all  the  pains  it  cost,  and  make  much  of  our 
meeting  ?  Only,  you  shall  tell  me  all  the  letter  contained." 


300  MARGARET : 

"  It  shall  be  so,"  Mr.  Russell  replied,  reverently  regard 
ing  the  veil  she  had  chosen  to  throw  over  the  mystery,  feel 
ing  that  even  in  his  secret  thoughts  he  would  not  seek  to 
draw  it  aside;  though  his  quick  perceptions  had  not  failed 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  truth. 

Margaret  resolutely  put  away  the  pain  which  the  unex 
pected  and  humiliating  disclosure  of  her  sister's  falseness 
caused.  Even  that  should  not  mar  the  gladness  of  the  re 
union,  and  Mr.  Russell  must  have  looked  in  vain  for  one  shade 
of  sadness  in  the  sweet  eyes  or  the  tenderly  smiling  lips. 

The  agony  of  tears  and  supplications  which  mingled  with 
her  thanksgiving  that  night,  God  only  knew.  Long  and 
fierce  was  the  struggle  with  the  scorn  and  indignation  which 
filled  her  soul,  before  she  could  think  of  her  sister  with  pity 
ing  forgiveness,  and  lay  the  whole  burden  of  her  grief  where 
she  had  laid  all  the  other  burdens  of  her  life. 

The  reward  of  her  conquest  and  her  faith  came  with  the 
perfect  peace,  the  unclouded  joy  of  that  Sabbath  morning. 

"Aunt  Margaret,"  said  George,  as  she  bent  over  the 
newly  blossomed,  dewy  flowers,  under  the  sitting-room  win 
dow,  "  aren't  you  sorry  that  we  can't  go  to  church  to-day  ? 
I'd  like  to  go  just  for  the  ride,  and  I  guess  you'd  like  to  go 
for  the  sake  of  the  sermon  and  things." 

"  It  would  be  very  nice  to  go,  Georgie,  but  I  can't  feel 
sorry  for  any  thing  to-day.  I  am  satisfied  with  every  thing. 
I'll  tell  you  what  we  will  do,  to  make  this  lovely  Sunday  as 
good  for  ourselves  and  others  as  it  ought  to  be.  We  will 
have  our  Bible-lessons  and  stories  this  morning,  and  this 
afternoon  we  will  go  and  see  Miss  Patty,  and  take  her  some 
flowers  and  read  to  her.  What  jjb  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  that  will  do,"  replied  George ;  "  though  I  don't 
know  but  what  Jack  and  I'd  rather  stay  in  the  woods  while 
you  are  at  Miss  Patty's.  I  don't  care  so  very  much  for  sit 
ting  down  long  at  a  time  with  sick  old  ladies." 

"  Old  ladies  might  find  it  very  dull  to  sit  with  little  boys 
long  at  a  time ;  yet  Miss  Patty  would  stay  with  you  night 
and  day,  if  you  were  sick  and  needed  her." 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE   HOME.  301 

"  Well,"  said  George,  after  a  little  pause,  "  I  don't  see 
that  she'd  need  me  and  Jack,  if  she  had  you." 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  she  would.  But  supposing  that 
she  had  nobody  but  you,  or  that  it  would  give  her  pleasure 
to  have  you  stay  with  her ;  I  hope  you  would  not  object 
because  she  was  old  and  sick  ?  " 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,  Aunty,"  answered  George,  emphati 
cally.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  Chloe  will  stay  here  when  she 
comes  to-morrow  ?  "  he  asked  presently. 

"  Not  if  Mrs.  More  cares  to  keep  her." 

"  I  shouldn't  a  bit  wonder  if  she'd  rather  live  here,  and  I 
hope  she  will ;  it's  such  fun  to  have  her  'round.  Don't  you 
believe  Jack  and  I  can  stay  here,  Aunty  ?  Do  you  think 
we'll  have  to  go  back  to  St.  Louis  in  the  winter  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  much  about  next  winter,  Georgie,"  replied 
Margaret,  and  the  heart  of  the  rose  she  had  fastened  in  her 
dress  was  not  brighter  than  her  cheeks.  "  It  is  a  good  way 
off  yet ;  but  I  doubt  if  Dr.  Doane  would  care  to  spare  you 
so  long." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  !  I  think  it  would  be  perfectly  dreadful  to 
have  to  go  away  from  you,  and  go  back  to  St.  Louis,"  ex 
claimed  George. 

"Why,  Georgie,"  said  Margaret,  taking  his  cloudy  face 
between  her  hands,  "  what  a  foolish  little  boy,  to  trouble 
yourself  about  next  winter,  when  the  sun  shines  and  the  birds 
are  singing,  and  it's  Sunday,  and  we  are  going  to  have  such  a 
happy  time !  There,"  she  cried,  kissing  each  rosy  cheek, 
"  run  away  and  call  Jack  now,  and  say  to  Jotham  that  as 
soon  as  he  is  ready,  he  can  come  to  the  sitting-room — or,  no ; 
we  will  sit  under  the  trees,  it  is  so  shady  and  pleasant  there." 

"  All  right,  Aunty,"  responded  George,  the  clouds  all 
gone  ;  and  he  bounded  away  in  search  of  Jack  and  Jotham. 

The  table,  chairs,  and  books  were  taken  out  under  the 
trees,  and  before  Jotham  appeared,  the  boys  had  said  their 
verses,  and  Biddy  received  her  simple  lesson.  Margaret 
found  some  difficulty  in  adapting  her  topics  and  teachings  to 
the  several  tastes  and  capacities  of  her  listeners,  but  the 


302  MARGAEET  I 

morning  passed  so  quickly  and  pleasantly  that  they  were  all 
surprised  when  noon  came. 

After  a  simple  lunch,  Jotham  and  Biddy  went  to  their 
homes,  and  Margaret  and  the  boys  set  out  for  Miss  Patty's 
with  the  flowers. 

For  once  the  boys  found  Margaret  an  abstracted  and 
unsatisfactory  companion.  They  had  their  talk  and  their 
little  discussions  to  themselves ;  a  "  Yes "  or  "  No,  dear," 
was  all  they  could  gain  from  her  during  their  walk.  It  was 
not  to  be  wondered  at,  either,  with  such  a  halo  of  unimagined 
happiness  encircling  her,  with  the  whispering  leaves  and 
zephyrs  repeating  over  and  over  for  her  the  wonderful  things 
they  had  heard  the  day  before,  that  she  lost  sight  of  the  little 
figures,  now  here,  now  there,  and  had  no  ear  for  their  prattle. 

When  Miss  Patty  saw  them  coming,  as  she  sat  by  the 
window,  she  laid  down  her  Bible,  and  came  to  the  door  to 
welcome  them. 

"  Come  in,  my  dears,  out  of  the  sun.  How  glad  I  am  to 
see  you !  How  tired  you  must  be,  walking  this  warm  day !  " 

"  Tired  !  "  cried  Margaret ;  "  oh,  not  a  bit,  Miss  Patty. 
It  is  just  warm  enough  to  be  delightful." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  must  say  that  you  don't  look  tired,  or 
any  thing  but  what  is  good  and  happy,"  said  Miss  Patty, 
looking  admiringly  at  Margaret,  as  she  seated  herself  and 
took  off  her  broad-brimmed  hat. 

"  Now  tell  me  about  yourself,  Miss  Patty,"  said  Mar 
garet.  ,"  How  have  you  been  since  Friday  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  is  little  to  tell  about  me,  my  dear.  I  was  a 
little  speck  disappointed  not  to  see  you  yesterday,  but  I  knew 
you  had  some  good  reason  for  not  coming." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  not  miss  me  any  more  than  a  little 
speck,"  said  Margaret,  waylaying  a  question  she  thought  she 
saw  in  Miss  Patty's  eyes.  "  How  is  your  sister  to 
day  ?  " 

"  She's  pretty  comfortable  for  her.  I've  been  reading  to 
her,  and  she's  just  gone  into  her  bedroom  to  lie  down." 

"  Well,  I  came  to  read  to  you,  Miss  Patty.     I  brought  a 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN    A    PRAIRIE   HOME.  303 

little  book  called  *  The  Patience  of  Hope,'  that  I  think  you 
will  like  very  much.  Georgie,  where  are  the  flowers  ?  " 

George  started  up  from  his  examination  of  the  pictures 
in  Miss  Patty's  old-fashioned  Bible.  "  Well,  there !  if  I 
didn't  leave  them  on  that  stump  in  the  woods,  where  I  laid 
them  for  a  minute  !  I'll  go  get  'em ; "  and  he  ran  out  of 
the  house. 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  be  withered,"  said  Margaret. 
"  Georgie  is  not  the  most  careful  little  man  in  the  world." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  even  a  withered  leaf  from  your 
yard,"  said  Miss  Patty.  "It  seems  two  ages  since  I  was 
there,  my  dear ;  and  I'm  going  to  watch  for  Dr.  Somers  to 
morrow,  and  get  him  to  take  me  over." 

"  Wait  till  Tuesday,  Miss  Patty,  and  I  will  come  myself 
and  bring  you." 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear ;  that  will  be  beautiful." 

In  a  few  minutes  George  came  back,  holding  up  not 
only  the  wilted  bouquet,  but  a  glove — a  gentleman's  riding- 
glove. 

"  See  what  I  found  in  the  woods  ! "  he  cried.  "  It's  Mr. 
Russell's,  I  know  it  is,  but  how  ever  it  got  there,  is  what  I 
can't  see." 

"  Whose  did  you  say  it  was,  George  ? "  asked  Miss 
Patty. 

"  Mr.  Russell's.  Don't  you  know  Mr.  Russell  ? — no,  of 
course  you  don't,  because  he  never  was  at  our  house  till  yes 
terday  and  the  day  before.  But  he's  coming  again  to-mor 
row,  and  you'd  better  ask  Aunt  Margaret  to  show  him  to 
you,  for  he's  just  the  splendidest  man  !  " 

"  He  was  there  yesterday  and  the  day  before,  and  coming 
again  to-morrow,"  repeated  Miss  Patty  slowly,  her  eyes  on 
Margaret.  "  Mr.  Russell  ?  I  thought  it  was  Mr.  Doane." 

"  I  thought  so  too,  until  I  saw  him,"  returned  Margaret, 
feeling  almost  sorry  that  she  had  put  herself  in  the  way  of 
her  friend's  affectionate  curiosity.  "  I  could  think  of  no  one 
else.  But  it  was,  as  Georgie  says,  Mr.  Russell,  a  gentleman 
I  used  to  know  long  ago  in  New  York.  He  came  with 


304:  MAEGAKKT  '. 

tidings  of  Chloe ;  for,  strangely  enough,  the  lady  at  Mores- 
ville  who  has  been  caring  for  her  is  Mr.  Russell's  aunt." 

"  "Well,  I  never !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Patty. 

"  What  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  George,  who  had 
been  consulting  with  Jack  about  the  glove,  and  trying  it  on, 
"  is,  how  this  came  to  be  in  the  woods,  when  you  and  Mr. 
Russell  went  home  by  the  road.  Aunty,  do  you  see  ?  " 

"Yes,  Georgie,"  said  Margaret,  half  vexed  and  half 
amused  that  her  cheeks  should  burn  and  her  eyes  falter  be 
fore  the  questions  of  her  little  boys  and  her  simple-hearted 
old  friend,  "  I  know  just  how  it  came  there.  On  my  way  to 
see  Miss  Patty  yesterday,  I  sat  down  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
Mr.  Russell,  who  was  riding  by,  saw  me,  and  came  into  the 
woods  where  I  was.  As  he  had  a  horse  to  lead,  we  went 
home  by  the  road.  Do  you  see  now  how  the  glove  came  to 
be  in  the  woods  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunty." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  read  to  Miss  Patty." 

"  Do,  my  dear  ;  but  how  will  the  little  boys  amuse  them 
selves  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  got  some  more  picture-books  besides  the 
Bible  ?  "  asked  Jack. 

"Yes,  indeed,"  replied  Miss  Patty.  "There's  Fox's 
*  Lives  of  the  Martyrs,'  and  '  Pilgrim's  Progress,'  and  Bun- 
yan's  '  Holy  War,'  and  more  yet.  They're  all  in  that  little 
cupboard,  and  you  may  ransack  it  to  your  hearts'  content." 

"  What  fun ! "  cried  the  boys.  They  soon  became  ab 
sorbed  in  the  ancient  contents  of  the  cupboard,  and  Margaret 
began  to  read  to  Miss  Patty,  who  was  soon  absorbed  in  the 
comforting  contents  of  the  little  book. 

When  Margaret  stopped  reading,  Miss  Patty  said,  "  I 
want  to  hear  you  sing.  I  haven't  heard  that  dear,  good  old 
hymn,  '  How  firm  a  foundation,'  for  the  longest  time,  except 
as  I  sing  it  to  myself.  Can  you  sing  it  ?  " 

Margaret  said  "  yes,"  thinking  how  impossible  it  would 
have  been  two  days  ago.  She  found  it  rather  more  difficult 
than  she  expected  to  keep  her  voice  from  trembling,  and  the 


A   STORY   OF   LITE   IN   A   PKAIKIE    HOME.  305 

happy  tears  from  filling  her  eyes ;  but  Miss  Patty  thought 
she  had  never  heard  any  thing  so  sweet  in  all  her  life. 

"  What  a  short  afternoon,"  she  said,  when,  soon  after  tea, 
Margaret  and  the  boys  were  starting  for  home.  "  How  good 
you  were  to  come." 

She  called  Margaret  back  from  the  gate,  to  whisper,  "  My 
dear,  are  you  going  to  let  the  farm  to  Jotham  on  shares,  as 
you  spoke  of  Friday  ?  " 

"  I  told  him  I  would,  yesterday." 

"  Shall  you  stay  there  yourself,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  told  Jotham  I  should,  yesterday  ;  but — " 

"  You  may  change  your  mind !  Well,  God  bless  you, 
whatever  you  do,  my  child ;  and  do  forgive  me  for  being  so 
inquisitive." 

"  You  shall  ask  me  any  thing  you  like,"  replied  Margaret, 
kissing  her  affectionately.  She  went  away,  thinking  sorrow 
fully  of  how  forlorn  Miss  Patty's  life  must  be,  as  age  and  in 
firmities  increased,  and  how  sadly  she  "would  miss  her  when 
she  was  gone. 

"  It  was  right  there  that  I  found  Mr.  Russell's  glove," 
said  George. 

Margaret  smiled  as  he  pointed  to  the  place  where  she  had 
received  the  lost  sweetness  back  into  her  life. 

The  three  sat  in  the  doorway,  reading  and  talking,  till 
the  daylight  had  quite  faded.  Biddy  came  home  then,  and 
she  and  the  boys  went  to  bed,  leaving  Margaret  to  a  quiet 
evening  by  herself,  as  she  thought.  But  she  had  hardly 
seated  herself,  before  she  heard  the  gate  open.  Slow,  heavy 
steps  came  \ip  the  walk,  and  there,  in  the  door,  with  the 
lamplight  falling  full  upon  her  face,  stood  a  woman  in  a 
calico  dress  and  sun-bonnet  and  dusty  shoes.  It  was  Nancy 
Stubbs.  Margaret,  recognizing  her  at  once,  started  to  her 
feet  in  amazement. 

•'  Ye  didn't  'spect  ter  see  me,  did  yer  ?  "  said  Nance,  sink 
ing  down  on  the  step  wi-arily. 

"  No,  indeed,  I  did  not,  Nancy,"  said  Margaret,  going  to 
her.  "  Where  did  you  come  from,  and  how  did  you  get  here  V  " 


306  MAEGAEET  .' 

"  I  come  from  St.  Louis  by  car,  an'  I  got  as  fur  as  Jones- 
ville  last  night,  an'  walked  over  yer'  this  arternoon." 

"  Are  you  quite  well  again  ?  You  do  not  look  very  strong 
yet." 

"  I  been't  as  strong's  I  mout  be,  but  I'm  tol'able  peert, 
an'  I'll  git  up  my  strengt'  now,  I  reckon.  Ye  didn't  know's 
I  meant  it  when  I  tole  yer  ye'd  see  me  ag'in,  did  yer  ?  " 

"  I  knew  you  meant  it  at  the  time,  Nancy ;  but  thought 
you  would  find  friends  in  St.  Louis,  and  be  contented  to  live 
there." 

Nance  shook  her  head.  "  No,  Miss,  I  couldn't  do't.  Yer 
was  the  fust  as  ever  spoke  a  kind  wo'd  to  me  sence  Sime  an' 
me  lef  ole  Virginny,  an'  I'd  a  been  dead  in  the  street  ef  it 
hedn't  a  been  fer  ye ;  an'  was  I  gwine  ter  live  thar  'thout 
ever  seein'  yer  face  ag'in  ?  I  couldn't  a  done  it,"  she  said, 
wiping  her  eyes  with  the  cape  of  her  sun-bonnet.  "  I  jes 
arnt  wot  'ud  buy  me  a  decent  gownd  an'  pay  fer  a  ride  in  the 
car,  an'  then  I  come.  An'  ef  ye'll  jes  lemme  stay,  I'll  work 
my  fingers  ter  the  bone  fer  ye,  I  will  so." 

She  had  risen,  and  stood  with  her  brown,  bony  hands 
clasped,  anxiously  awaiting  her  sentence ;  but  Margaret  saw 
that  she  was  weak  and  faint. 

"  You  are  too  tired  to  stand,"  she  said  ;  "  come  in  and  sit 
down.  Have  you  had  any  supper  ?  " 

"  I  hain't  hed  nothin'  sence  moruin',  but  ain't  yer  gwine 
ter  tell  me  whedder  I'se  got  ter  go  off?  I  can't  eat  till  I  know 
thet." 

"  No,  you  need  not  go  away,"  said  Margaret,  putting  out 
of  her  thoughts  every  objection  and  contingency,  "  you  shall 
stay  here,  and  I  will  help  you  to  be  useful  and  happy.  Now 
you  will  come  in  and  have  some  supper." 

Margaret  led  the  way  to  the  kitchen,  and  speedily  placed 
bread  and  milk  and  cold  meat  before  Nance. 

"  I  dunna  how  ter  thank  ye  as  I'd  orter,"  N  ice  said, 
wiping  away  grateful  tears,  when  Margaret  showed  her  the 
comfortable  bed  she  had  prepared  for  her.  "  Ye'd  a  right  to 
treat  me  orful,  arter  Sirne  an'  me  takin'  Ohio  off — an'  jes'  see 


A  STORY   OF  LIFE  IN  A  PRAIRIE    HOME.  307 

the  way  ye've  done  by  me  !  Ef  ye'll  lemme  now,  I'll  tell  yer 
all  I  know  'bout  Ohio." 

"  No,  never  mind,  Nancy ;  I  know  that  Chloe  ran  away 
from  you,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  she 
went  to  a  kind  lady  who  has  taken  care  of  her  ever  since. 
She  will  be  here  to-morrow." 

"  Well,"  said  Nance,  shaking  her  head,  "  I  be  right  glad 
Ohio's  been  took  care  on;  but  she'll  hate  the  sight  o' mo 
worse'n  pisin." 

"  Not  when  she  knows  that  you  would  not  harm  her  now 
for  the  world,"  said  Margaret. 

"  I'd  like  ter  know  how  poor  ole  Sitne  is,"  thought  Nance, 
as  Margaret  left  her.  "  I  wish  he  cud  fall  in  with  the  likes 
o'  her,  mebby  ther'd  be  a  chance  fer  him  as  well's  me." 

Margaret's  thoughts  were  too  busy  with  the  arrival  of 
her  unlooked-for  visitor,  and  the  St.  Louis  memories  it  sug 
gested,  and  with  the  sweet  anticipations  of  the  morrow,  to 
let  her  eyes  close  very  soon.  But  she  was  up  with  the  sun, 
and  busy  with  the  preparations  for  her  guests. 

Nancy  would  have  been  glad  to  do  every  thing  herself, 
and  every  thing  at  once,  but  it  was  evident  that  a  great 
deal  of  patient  teaching  was  needed  before  she  could  really 
be  of  use. 

Margaret  did  not  shrink  from  the  task.  She  thought  of 
undertaking  it  the  more  gladly  because  the  happy  idea  had 
occurred  to  her  of  training  Nancy  thoroughly  for  Miss 
Patty,  feeling  sure  that  she  might  become  just  what  her 
friend  would  need,  as  age  and  her  sister's  infirmities  in 
creased. 

Chloe's  persecutors  had  so  long  been  the  betes  noirs  of  the 
boys'  imaginations,  that  Margaret  took  care  to  tell  them  of 
Nancy's  advent,  to  guard  them  against  any  thoughtless 
demonstration.  It  was  quite  a  disappointment  to  them  to 
find  their  aunt's  description  verified  when  they  hurried  to 
the  kitchen  and  beheld  only  a  plain  woman  in  a  clean  Calico 
dress  churning. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  George,  afterwards,  "  if 


308  MARGARET  : 

that's  Nancy  Stubbs,  I  guess  Chloe  needn't  be  afraid  of  her 
She  won't  bite." 

"  I  am  going  to  manage  so  that  Chloe  need  not  see  Nancy 
until  we  have  told  her  how  changed  she  is.  I  will  send 
Nancy  with  a  note,  asking  Miss  Patty  to  let  her  stay  there 
to-day,  and  wash  or  help  as  she  can.  I  don't  think  she  will 
be  a  trouble  to  Miss  Patty  even  if  she  has  nothing  for  her 
to  do." 

"  Let  George  and  me  go  and  show  her  the  way,"  said 
Jack. 

"  And.  not  see  Mr.  Russell  and  Chloe !  "  cried  George. 

"  They  will  not  be  here  before  noon,"  said  Margaret ; 
"  you  would  be  back  before  they  came."  So  the  three 
started  off  directly  after  breakfast. 

"  I'm  glad  I  ain't  gwine  to  be  yer  when  Chlo  comes," 
Nance  had  said  ;  "  she'd  be  scairt  to  death  to  see  me.  But 
jes  tell  her  thet  I  wo'dn't  do  her  a  mean  trick  now  fer 
nothin.' " 

How  carefully  Margaret  surveyed  her  arrangements, 
when  the  last  touches  had  been  given.  She  might  well  feel 
satisfied,  for  nothing  could  be  more  tasteful  and  attractive 
than  the  sitting-room  and  the  bed-room  adjoining,  which  she 
had  prepared  for  Mrs.  More  if  she  should  need  to  rest.  Since 
her  return  from  St.  Louis  the  sitting-room  had  been  newly 
painted  and  papered,  and  the  straw  matting,  to  which 
Margaret  had  treated  herself  for  the  summer,  the  full  mus 
lin  curtains,  and  the  pretty  chintz  covering  of  the  lounge 
and  rocking-chairs,  gave  it  a  dainty  air  of  freshness.  Books, 
pictures,  and  flowers  completed  the  charm.  The  woodbine 
which  grew  so  luxuriantly  over  each  window,  stirred  by  the 
soft  summer-breeze,  let  in  many  a  stray  sunbeam  to  dance 
about  the  room,  seeming  to  say,  "  I  am  glad  to  be  here ;  it  is 
a  place  I  love." 

Margaret  went  to  dress,  thinking  that  she  should  have  to 
wait  a  little  for  her  visitors.  But  just  as  she  had  taken  the 
final  look  at  herself  in  the  glass — she  did  not  see  hei-self  as 
others  must  see  her,  so  very  lovely  in  her  fresh  white  dress 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  309 

and  violet  ribbons — Mr.  Russell  was  helping  his  aunt  from 
an  old-fashioned  carriage  at  the  gate,  and  there,  on  the  gate 
post,  sat  Chloe,  drumming  with  her  heels,  as  if  she  had 
never  left  it ;  only  that  she  had  on  her  brown  linen  dress, 
and  a  hat — not  on  her  head,  to  be  sure,  but  swung  wildly 
about  as  she  sat  and  drummed. 

The  scene  was  so  like  an  illusion  to  Margaret,  as  to  make 
her  forget,  for  an  instant,  that  she  ought  to  go  down  and 
receive  her  guests.  But  when  Mr.  Russell  offered  his  arm  to 
his  aunt,  she  turned  from  the  window,  and,  with  a  flutter  at 
her  heart,  went  down-stairs,  entering  the  sitting-room  as 
they  reached  the  open  door. 

Her  eyes  met  Mr.  Russell's,  and  the  look  in  them  and  the 
smile  he  gave  held  her  spell-bound  for  a  moment ;  but  with 
one  answering  smile  she  approached  Mrs.  More,  who  was  re 
garding  her  with  gentle  scrutiny. 

Mrs.  More  held  out  her  hand,  and  drawing  Margaret  to 
her,  kissed  her,  saying,  "  My  dear  child  !  Take  her,  Robert, 
I  see  she  deserves  to  be  as  happy  as  you  will  surely  make 
her." 

She  gave  the  hand  she  held  into  Mr.  Russell's  keeping, 
and  went  to  the  door  to  look  for  Chloe.  Chloe  had  disap 
peared  from  the  gate-post;  she  was  nowhere  in  sight,  and 
Mrs.  More  interested  herself  in  the  flowers,  that  looked  so 
well  cared-for,  until  Margaret  came  to  her.  "  Don't  stand, 
Mrs.  More.  I  am  afraid  you  are  very  tired  ;  it  is  a  long 
drive  from  Moresville." 

"  My  aunt  maintains,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  "  that  riding  over 
prairie-roads  is  scarcely  more  tiresome  than  sitting  still  in  the 
house.  But  you  will  think  her  a  very  good  traveller,  when 
I  tell  you  that  she  drove  with  me  over  the  up-hill  and  down- 
dale  roads  along  the  Hudson  for  fifteen  miles  and  back, 
without  being  very  tired." 

"  But  the  day  was  so  beautiful,  and  there  was  so  much  to 
see,  and  I  enjoyed  my  visit  with  Robert's  friends  so  much — 
all  those  things  helped  to  prevent  my  feel  inn  weary." 

"My  aunt  does  not  mean  to  imply  that  those  pleasant 


310  MAKGARET : 

preventives  are  wanting  to-day,  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Rus 
sell.  , 

"  Margaret  knows  tLat  I  do  not,  without  your  telling  her 
so,  Robert,"  replied  Mrs.  More,  following  Margaret  into  the 
bed-room. 

"My  dear  child  !  "  she  said,  folding  her  arms  about  Mar 
garet,  "  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  have  felt  for  you  ;  to 
think  of  those  years  of  separation  !  But  the  kind  Father  has 
comforted  you,  and  you  are  happy  at  last." 

Margaret  smiled  through  her  tears — tears  that  were  not 
quite  free  from  sadness,  for  Mrs.  More's  tenderness  seemed 
so  like  her  mother's.  Perhaps  Mrs.  More  divined  her  feelings, 
for  she  kissed  her  again,  saying,  "  I  love  Robert  as  if  he  were 
my  own  child,  and  I  have  already  taken  you,  too,  into  my 
heart.  I  will  not  ask  you  to  come  to  me  as  you  would  to  your 
mother,  I  do  not  expect  that ;  but  love  and  trust  me  as  much 
as  you  can." 

"  That  will  be  a  great  deal,"  said  Margaret,  warmly,  kiss 
ing  the  soft  cheek. 

"  I  suppose  Robert  is  counting  every  moment  that  I  keep 
you  from  him,  my  dear.  I  am  going  to  lie  down  for  a  little," 
and  she  drew  her  to  the  door,  saying,  "  Robert,  you  may 
have  your  Margaret  to  yourself  for  one  hour." 

"Where  can  Chloe  be  ?"  said  Margaret,  when  Mr.  Rus 
sell  had  led  her  to  the  lounge,  and  seated  himself  beside  her. 
"  I  have  not  once  thought  of  the  poor  child." 

"You  must  not  think  of  her  yet,  Margaret;  I  cannot 
spare  one  of  your  thoughts,"  and  for  a  little  while  she  could 
not  choose  but  give  him  every  one. 

In  the  meantime,  Chloe,  not  in  the  least  forgetful  of 
Margaret,  but  perhaps  with  an  idea  of  saving  the  best  till  the 
last,  was  visiting  all  her  old  haunts.  She  looked  into  the  pig 
pen,  the  scene  of  her  well-remembered  overturn  ;  went  to  the 
barn,  climbed  to  the  hay-loft,  examined  all  the  nests,  care 
fully  counting  the  eggs,  without  touching  one  ;  ran  down  to 
the  sheep-lot  to  take  a  hasty  survey  of  the  sheep ;  sot  the 
geese  hissing  and  flying  in  every  direction  by  suddenly  dash- 


A   STORT    OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  311 

ing  in  among  them;  and  returned  to  the  house,  making  sun 
dry  stops  and  observations  by  the  way. 

Why  she  did  not  go  straight  into  the  sitting-room,  where 
she  kne\v  she  should  be  likely  to  find  Margaret,  she  could  not 
have  told,  herself.  Certain  it  is  that  she  stood  on  tiptoe  be 
fore  each  window,  vainly  trying  to  get  a  glimpse  through 
the  vines ;  she  tiptoed  back  and  forth  before  the  door,  peering 
this  way  and  that ;  she  mounted  the  gate-post ;  she  climbed 
upon  the  outside  of  the  porch,  and  finally,  with  many  contor 
tions  and  grimaces,  and  much  hesitation,  she  went  up  the 
steps.  Little  by  little  her  head  appeared  around  the  edge 
of  the  half-open  door. 

"  Chloe  ! "  cried  Margaret,  starting  from  her  seat,  "  come 
here,  child." 

The  sight  of  Miss  Marg'et's  face  and  the  sound  of  her 
voice  were  too  much  for  Chloe.  Dropping  on  the  floor,  she 
drew  her  dress  over  her  head,  and  broke  into  a  sort  of  sob 
bing  wail.  Margaret  bent  over  her,  half  inclined  to  cry  her 
self,  and  tried  to  take  the  dress  down,  saying,  "  Chloe,  I 
am  so  glad  to  have  you  here  again.  Let  me  look  at  you, 
Chloe." 

But  Chloe  held  her  dress  tight,  and  Margaret  concluded 
that  the  best  way  was  to  let  her  take  her  own  time.  In  a 
minute  or  two  the  wail  suddenly  ceased,  the  dress  was  with 
drawn,  and  her  eyes  were  shyly  lifted  to  Margaret's. 

"  Are  you  glad  to  see  me,  Chloe  ?  "  asked  Margaret. 

"  I  reckon  I  is !  Oh,  Miss  Marg'et !  "  Chloe  got  upon 
her  knees,  and  throwing  her  arms  around  Margaret,  laid  her 
little  black  face  against  her,  and  broke  anew  into  that  wild 
wail. 

Margaret  could  not  speak  for  a  moment.  She  wiped  away 
her  tears,  and  lifted  Chloe  to  her  feet. 

"  There,  Chloe,  don't  cry  any  more.  I  want  to  see  you 
look  happy.  I  don't  think  you  have  grown  or  changed  a  bit, 
and  I  am  glad  of  it — glad  to  have  just  our  little  Chloe  again. 
Don't  you  want  to  see  your  old  friends,  George  and  Jack  ? 
They  will  be  home  soon." 


312  MARGARET  .* 

Chloe  nodded  her  head  with  her  old  vehemence.  "  I'se 
been  all  over." 

"  Have  you  ?  Have  you  been  to  the  barn,  and  seen  the 
pigs  and  the  cows  and  the  sheep  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Marg'et,  an'  I  seen  heaps  o'  eggs  in  dem  ole 
nesses,  but  I  nebber  tetched  one  on  'em,  an'  dat's  de  trufe." 

"  I  have  no  fear  of  your  doing  any  mischief,  Chloe.  You 
have  been  a  very  good  child,  I  know,  since  you  left  me." 

"  No  I  hain't  allus,"  said  Chloe,  glancing  at  Mr.  Russell, 
who  stood  watching  the  scene  with  the  greatest  interest,  and 
she  hung  her  head  and  dug  her  toes  into  the  matting. 

"  I  suppose  Chloe  is  thinking  of  the  time  when  she  in 
vaded  my  sanctum,  and  made  an  examination  of  my  desk," 
he  said,  smiling.  "  She  little  knows  what  reason  I  have  to 
bless  her  for  that  piece  of  audacity." 

"  And  I  too,"  said  Margaret,  returning  his  look. 

"  It  was  Miss  Marg'et,"  said  Chloe,  dolefully,  not  compre 
hending  what  she  heard,  but  feeling  that  she  was  under  a 
cloud.  "  I  nebber  tetched  nuffin  else,  on'y  jes  looked  into  dem' 
little  draw's." 

"  Never  mind  that  now,  Chloe,"  said  Margaret,  "  no  one 
blames  you." 

"  "Well,  Chloe,"  said  Mrs.  More,  coming  from  the  bed 
room,  "  so  you  are  with  your  dear  Miss  Marg'et  once  more. 
I  have  been  thinking,"  she  continued,  turning  to  Mr.  Russell 
and  Margaret,  "  of  the  chain  of  little  events  that  has  brought 
you  together.  How  strange  it  seems  that  a  little  child 
whom  Margaret  befriended,  in  the  kindness  of  her  heart, 
should  have  had  so  much  to  do  with  those  events." 

Here  Chloe  darted  out  of  the  house.  She  had  seen  Bid 
dy  before,  b\it  had  been  too  busy  to  make  her  acquaintance. 
Now  she  followed  her  to  the  door  of  the  kitchen,  and  sitting 
down  on  the  steps,  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  floor  just  inside, 
her  chin  on  her  hands,  and  looked  around. 

"  Whativer  did  yez  come  back  here  for  ?  "  asked  Bridget, 
who  looked  upon  Chloe  as  Biddy's  rival. 

"I  come  back  to  live  'long  o'  Miss  Marg'et.     Dat  ars 


A   STORY   OF   LEFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  313 

mine,"  sbe  added,  giving  Biddy's  dress,  as  she  came  near,  a 
little  pull.  It  had  been  Chloe's,  but  Margaret  had  given  it 
to  Biddy,  with  other  things  that  Chloe  had  left  behind — the 
two  being  about  the  same  size. 

"  Yours  indade ! "  cried  Bridget,  indignantly.  "  Be  aff 
wid  yez,  an'  don't  come  insultin'  yere  betthers." 

"  Gimme  dat  ar  an'  I'll  gim  you  dis  yer,"  said  Chloe,  in 
dicating  the  dress  she  had  on.  "It's  'nuff  sight  han'somer." 

Biddy  thought  to  herself  that  it  would  be  a  fine  bargain 
— that  nice  brown  dress  and  cape,  trimmed  with  braid,  for 
her  half-worn  calico,  but  her  mother  quickly  cut  short  her 
speculations. 

"  Biddy,  ye  jist  lave  aff  talkin'  wid  Chloe,  she's  benathe 
yere  notice;  an'  go  sthraight  an'  git  thim  potaties  an'  be 
afther  palin'  thim.  It's  a'most  dinner-time." 

Bridget's  looks  and  tones  were  wrathful,  but  Chloe  re 
mained  on  the  steps,  calmly  watching  operations,  until  she 
heard  shouts  in  the  distance  that  made  her  start  up.  Climb 
ing  the  gate-post,  sh«&  saw  George  and  Jack  coming  across 
the  field  from  Miss  Patty's. 

"  Hello,  Chloe ! "  they  cried  every  now  and  then  as  they 
came  towards  her,  which  salutation  she  answered  by  kicking 
her  heels  harder  than  ever,  showing  her  white  teeth  and 
nodding  her  head. 

"  Get  down,  Chloe,  and  let's  see  how  you  look,"  cried 
George,  as  they  reached  the  fence  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road.  She  did  get  down,  and  shot  off  behind  the  house, 
with  the  boys  after  her;  but  before  very  long  the  three  ap 
peared  at  the  sitting-room  door,  on  very  amicable  terms. 

George  and  Jack  were  introduced  to  Mrs.  More,  and  had 
a  chat  with  Mr.  Russell.  They  took  him  out  to  show  him 
the  lamb,  whose  wounded  leg  had  nearly  recovered,  and  who, 
by  dint  of  careful  nursing  and  petting,  had  become  quite  in 
teresting — besides  some  rare  hens  and  turkeys  which  were 
their  own  especial  property.  When  they  came  in,  dinner 
was  ready. 

The  afternoon  passed  only  too  quickly.  Mrs.  More  felt 
14 


814  MARGARET : 

obliged  to  start  for  home  before  sunset,  as  the  horses  were 
not  fresh,  and  they  would  have  to  drive  slowly. 

"I  am  sorry  to  take  Robert  away  from  you  so  early, 
Margaret,"  she  said ;  "  but  you  will  see  him  again  very 
soon." 

"How  shall  I  make  my  peace  with  Mrs.  Davis,  Aunt 
Clara?  "asked  Mr.  Russell.  "I  promised  that  you  should 
call  there  when  you  came  to  see  Miss  Crosby." 

"But  you  see,  my  dear,  I  came  to  see  Margaret.  I 
might  have  cut  short  my  visit  to  Miss  Crosby,  but  I  could 
not  to  Margaret." 

"Of  course  you  could  not,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Russell. 

Margaret  smiled ;  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  More,  "  what  about  Chloe  ? 
I  have  no  doubt  that  she  will  wish  to  stay  with  you,  but  will 
she  not  be  in  your  way  just  now,  until  you  have  found  a 
place  for  Biddy,  and  become  a  little  used  to  Nancy  ?  " 

"  I  think  Margaret  has  more  than  her  share  of  depend 
ents,"  said  Mr.  Russell ;  "  I  am  afraid^he  will  find  difficulty 
in  providing  for  them  all." 

"Oh,  no,"  answered  Margaret;  "it  can  all  be  easily 
arranged ;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that,  as  I  have 
had  no  time  to  prepare  Chloe  to  meet  Nancy,  and  Biddy 
would  feel  badly  to  go  home  to-night,  Chloe  had  better  go 
back  with  you ;  she  can  come  some  other  time,  if  it  seems  best." 

This  was  decided  upon ;  but  when  the  carriage  came  to 
the  door,  Chloe  was  nowhere  to  be  found.  The  boys  looked 
in  every  possible  and  impossible  place — in  the  cellar,  wood 
shed,  barn,  and  where  nol — and  shouted  till  they  were  tired. 
But  no  Chloe  came  to  light.  At  length,  Mr.  Russell  sug 
gested  that  in  all  probability  nothing  would  be  seen  of  her 
until  he  and  his  aunt  were  gone,  and  the  search  was  relin 
quished.  Chloe,  having  taken  her  fate  into  her  own  hands, 
was  left  to  it. 

"  I  shall  come  again  in  a  few  days,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  More 
said  as  she  bade  Margaret  good-by ;  "  then  we  will  go  to 
gether  and  call  on  your  friend  Mrs.  Davis.  And  remember, 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE    IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  315 

that  I  must  have  a  little  visit  from  you  before  Robert  goes 
home." 

"  I  shall  come  to-morrow  to  see  my  darling,"  Mr.  Russell 
said,  as  he  took  her  hands  and  looked  into  her  clear,  gray 
eyes.  "  I  must  see  her  every  day,  for  a  time  will  come — a 
little  time — when  I  shall  be  far  away  from  her.  But  then 
another  time  will  come — not  a  little  time — " 

With  what  a  sweet  contentment  Margaret  watched  the 
carriage  as  it  rolled  away,  seeing  the  uncovered  head  and 
the  waving  handkerchief  until  the  turn  in  the  road  hid  them 
from  view.  Then  she  looked  down  at  the  single,  clear  pearl 
upon  her  finger,  in  its  old-fashioned  setting.  It  had  been  his 
mother's.  He  would  never  have  parted  with  it,  save  to  her. 

"  There  comes  Nancy  Stubbs,"  said  Jack,  while  she  still 
stood  musing  over  her  ring. 

"  Where  can  Chloe  be ! "  exclaimed  Margaret. 

She  turned  to  enter  the  sitting-room,  and  the  first  thing 
she  saw  was  Chloe's  head,  emerging  from  under  the  chintz 
frill  of  the  lounge. 

"  Why  Chloe,  have  you  been  there  all  this  time  ?  "  asked 
Margaret,  laughing. 

"  No,  I  hain't ;  I  jes'  got  in  dat  ar  bedroom-winder  while 
you  was  out  to  the  gate.  Oh,  Miss  Marg'et,  lemme  stay 
'long  o'  you,"  she  entreated,  trying  to  look  very  miserable, 
as  if  she  thought  she  might  be  sent  away. 

"  You  managed  to  stay,  whether  I  would  let  you  or  no, 
Chloe,"  replied  Margaret.  "  But  I  must  tell  you  something, 
so  come  out  from  under  the  lounge  and  listen."  Margaret 
proceeded  to  tell  her  about  having  seen  Nance  in  St.  Louis, 
and  taken  care  of  her  when  she  was  sick ;  about  her  havin«- 

*  O 

come  there  the  night  before,  and  how  different  she  had  be 
come  ;  and  when  George  burst  into  the  room,  calling,  "  Is 
Chloe  going  to  be  afraid  of  Nancy  ?  "  she  replied,  bravely, 
"  No,  I  ain't.  I  ain't  a  bit  afeard."  The.  only  signs  of  her 
having  any  disagreeable  remembrances  of  Nance,  were  the 
inquiring  looks  she  gave  her  whenever  she  came  near,  and  a 
little  disposition  to  edge  away. 


316  MARGARET. 

Poor  Nance !  the  sight  of  Chloe  recalled  so  vividly  that 
terrible,  suffering  journey  to  St.  Louis,  and  Simon's  desertion, 
that  her  case  was  far  more  pitiful  than  that  of  the  child  she 
had  persecuted.  Margaret  felt  that  she  had  a  strange  house 
hold  that  night,  but  she  disposed  of  them  readily.  Biddy 
was  such  a  useful,  sedate  little  body,  that  she  knew  she  could 
easily  find  a  new  home  for  her;  and  while  Bridget  would 
miss  her  frequent  day's-work  at  the  farm,  she  would  not  suf 
fer  from  the  loss.  Of  course,  Nance  and  Chloe  would  stay 
with  her  as  long  as  she  remained  on  the  farm. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

All  October's  wealth  of  beauty 
Seems  a  wedding  gift  for  thee, 
And  our  hearts  bring  loves  and  blessings 

To  endow  thee  royally.  ANOX. 

MARGAKET  remembered  her  promise  to  Miss  Patty,  and 
BOOH  after  breakfast  Tuesday  morning  she  set  out  in  the 
farm-wagon,  taking  Chloe  with  her,  and  leaving  t'ie  boys  to 
keep  house.  She  drove  first  to  Mrs.  Davis's,  to  ask  her  if  she 
would  like  to  take  Biddy,  or  if  she  could  think  of  any  body 
who  would.  She  little  knew  that  her  friend  had  been  weav 
ing  a  romance  for  her  during  the  past  five  days,  only  equalled 
by  the  reality. 

Mrs.  Davis  looked  eagerly  into  Margaret's  face,  trying  to 
discover  if  any  thing  had  come  to  pass  yet.  But  Margaret, 
unconscious  of  the  scrutiny,  pointed  to  Chloe,  who  sat  in  the 
wagon,  holding  the  reins,  not  so  steadily  but  that,  if  the 
horse  had  been  less  fond  of  standing  still,  he  might  have  felt 
privileged  to  run  away  with  her. 

"  Why,  has  Chloe  come  already  ?  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Davis. 
"  Chloe,  how  do  you  do  ?  " 

Chloe  gave  the  reins  an  extra  jerk  and  her  head  an  extra 
dip,  that  nearly  sent  her  over  the  dashboard. 

"  Be  careful,  Chloe,  or  you  will  fall  out,"  cried  Margaret. 

"  When  did  she  come  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Davis.  "  Did  Mrs. 
More  bring  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  brought  her  over  yesterday." 

"  Did  Mr.  Russell  come  too  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  And  they  never  came  here !  Mr.  Russell  told  me  he 
would  surely  bring  his  aunt  to  see  me  when  they  came  to 
your  house  !  I  shall  give  him  a  good  scolding,  and  let  him 
know  that  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with  in  this  style,"  said 
Mrs.  Davis,  with  a  great  assumption  of  indignation,  while  in 


318  MARGARET : 

her  heart  she  was  only  weighing  the  probabilities  that  some 
thing  had  happened.  "  They  just  came  for  a  call,  I  sup 
pose  ?  " 

"  No,"  answered  Margaret,  taken  by  surprise,  and  feeling 
herself  in  rather  a  maze. 

"  No  !  did  they  spend  the  day  ?  " 

"  Tes ;  but  Mrs.  More  spoke  of  calling  here  some  other 
time." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  her.  I  wonder  when  Mr.  Rus 
sell  is  going  back  to  New  York  !  I  should  like  to  see  him 
again  very  much." 

"  I  dare  say  you  will,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Oh,  then  you  think  he  will  come  with  his  aunt  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  intends  to,"  replied  Margaret,  avoiding  her 
friend's  bright  eyes.  "  But  I  came  of  an  errand.  I  must  tell 
you  what  it  is,  and  hurry  away,  for  I  am  going  to  take  Miss 
Patty  to  spend  the  day  with  me."  She  made  known  Nan 
cy's  arrival,  with  her  plan  for  her,  and  her  desire  to  find  a 
good  home  for  Biddy. 

"  Well,  well,  it  is  something  new  for  any  one  in  these 
regions  to  have  such  a  superfluity  of  'help,'"  said  Mrs. 
Davis,  laughing.  "  I'm  glad  its  Biddy  that  you  want  to  get 
rid  of,  for  I  am  sure  she  is  just  what  Mrs.  Thomas  needs.  She 
would  hardly  undertake  Nancy  Stubbs,  but  I  know  she 
would  be  delighted  to  have  Biddy  to  mind  the  children." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Margaret ;  "  Biddy  is  a  nice 
child,  and  I  am  very  anxious  that  she  should  be  under  good 
influences." 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  said  Charlie,  coming  into  the  room  just 
then,  "  I've  cut  my  finger.  Won't  you  put  a  rag  on  it  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see  the  cut,  Charlie,"  said  Margaret ;  "  is  it  a 
very  bad  one  ?  " 

"  Not  very.  I  didn't  know  you  were  here,  Miss  Marga 
ret.  Did  Jack  and  George  come  too  ?  " 

"  No,  I  lefc  them  at  home  to  keep  house." 

"  You  tie  it  up,  Miss  Margaret,"  said  Charlie,  as  his 
mother  came  with  a  bit  of  linen  and  a  piece  of  thread. 


A   STOKY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PKAIEIE   HOME.  319 

"  Of  course  I  will,  Charlie,"  replied  Margaret,  taking  off 
her  gloves,  and  hoping,  as  she  bound  up  the  wounded  finger, 
that  Mrs.  Davis,  who  stood  by,  would  not  notice  her  ring. 

"  There,  will  that  do  ?  "  she  said,  as  she  cut  off  the  ends 
of  the  thread. 

"  Yes,  thank  you,  that's  very  nice ;  ain't  it,  mother  ?  " 
said  Charlie. 

"  Very ;  now  run  away,  my  dear.  Chloe  is  in  the  wagon. 
Go  and  ask  her  what  she  has  been  doing  since  she  left  Miss 
Marg'et.  Margaret !  "  she  cried,  when  Charlie  was  gone, 
"  you  must  confess  to  me.  Sit  down  again  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"  About  Chloe's  adventures  ? "  questioned  Margaret, 
smiling.  She  would  rather  have  chosen  her  own  time  to 
make  her  confession. 

"  No,  no !  nothing  about  Chloe !  Ah,  Margaret !  am  I 
such  a  new  friend,  and  do  you  trust  me  so  little  that  you 
would  go  away  without  telling  me  ?  Where  did  you  get 
that  pearl  ring  ?  " 

Margaret  hesitated  only  a  moment.  Why  should  she 
shrink  from  letting  her  kind  friend  know  what  would  give 
her  so  much  pleasure  ? 

"  Mr.  Russell  gave  me  the  ring.  I  am  engaged  to  him," 
she  said,  meeting  her  friend's  eyes  with  a  proud  happy  light 
in  her  own. 

"  Oh,  Margaret !  my  dear,  my  dear  !  I  knew  it,  I  was 
sure  of  it !  "  and  Mrs.  Davis  threw  her  arms  around  her, 
and  kissed  her  no-ain  and  acrain. 

o  o 

"  How  did  you  know  it  ?  "  Margaret  asked,  when  Mrs. 
Davis  gave  her  a  chance. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  long  story.  But  sit  down,  and  I'll  tell  you 
just  how  I  found  it  out." 

"  If  it  is  a  long  story  I  am  afraid  I  cannot  stay  to  hear  it, 
much  as  I  should  like  to.  Miss  Patty  will  think  I  have  for 
gotten  her." 

"  Well,  it  was  only  by  putting  this  little  thing  and  that 
little  thing  together.  But  I  shall  always  comfort  myself 


320  MARGARET I 

with  the  thought  that  I  had  a  hand  in  making  you  happy, 
I'll  tell  you  how,  some  day.  I  needn't  ask  if  you  have  loved 
each  other  for  years,  for  I  know  it ;  but  how — oh,  dear !  well, 
this  is  a  strange  world.  When  is  he  coming  over  again  ?  " 

"  To-day,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  What !  and  Miss  Patty  going  to  be  there  !  " 

Margaret  smiled  at  her  friend's  look  of  dismay.  "I 
promised  Sunday  that  I  would  go  for  her  this  morning,  and 
I  cannot  disappoint  her." 

"  But,  dear  me !  how  dreadfully  poky  and  unromantic  it 
will  be  to  have  the  little  old  lady  there.  You'll  feel  as  if  you 
must  make  it  pleasant  for  her,  and  she  will  just  spoil  every 
thing.  Let  me  bring  her  here,  instead." 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't  at  all  worth  while.  She  longs  to  see  the 
4  dear  place,'  as  she  calls  the  farm-house,  und  she  will  not 
spoil  any  thing." 

"Well,  I'm  sorry  that  you  should  be  so  wilful ;  I  know 
Mr.  Russell  will  look  cross  when  he  sees  her  there.  You 
think  he  can't  look  cross,  I  can  tell  by  your  eyes ;  but  you'll 
find  out !  " 

Margaret  found  Miss  Patty  watching  for  her,  in  her  best 
dress,  with  her  best  cap  pinned  up  in  a  paper,  and  her  spec 
tacles  and  knitting  in  her  black-silk  bag. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,  my  dear,"  she  cried,  as  the  wagon 
stopped  at  the  gate.  "  Don't  got  out ;  I'm  all  ready  but  my 
bonnet  and  shawl,  and  I'll  be  there  in  a  trice." 

In  a  moment  she  came  to  the  side  of  the  wagon,  and 
Margaret  reached  her  hand  down  to  help  her  in.  At  the 
moment  a  chaise  drove  up  behind  them,  and  Dr.  Somers' 
voice  called,  "  Hello,  there  !  Wait  a  bit,  and  I'll  lift  you  in," 
which  he  did,  and  shook  hands  with  Margaret,  giving  a  nod 
at  Chloe. 

"  You  see  Chloe  has  come  back  to  me,"  said  Margaret. 

"Yes,  I  see ;  and  I've  seen  more  than  that,  Miss.  I  sup 
pose  if  I  had  dropped  in  unexpectedly  yesterday  I  should 
have  seen  more  yet.  I  can't  stop  here  now  to  talk,  for  Mrs. 
Brown's  baby  is  cutting  a  tooth  !  But  I  give  you  fair  warn- 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  321 

ing  I  shall  be  there  this  afternoon  to  hear  what  it  all  means 
— a  letter  from  one  young  man,  and  a  visit  from  another,  in 
less  than  a  week !  Miss  Hopkins,  I  wonder  that  you  allow 
her  to  carry  on  such  flirtations." 

"  Flirtations  !  "  cried  Miss  Patty,  indignantly.  "  Fie  on 
you,  doctor !  I'm  ashamed  of  you  !  as  if  Margaret  didn't 
know  her  own  affairs,  and  wasn't  to  be  trusted.  Flirtations, 
indeed ! " 

"  I  suppose  she  does  know  her  own  affairs,  and  I  want  to 
know  'em  too.  It's  all  well  and  good  if  she  can  give  a  satis 
factory  explanation  as  to  the  person  I  saw  in  the  carriage 
with  Mrs.  More  and  Chloe  yesterday,  on  the  way  from  Joncs- 
ville.  I'll  see  this  afternoon ; "  and  without  giving  Margaret 
time  to  speak,  he  was  in  his  chaise,  driving  away. 

"  I  hope  Nancy  was  not  a  trouble  to  you  yesterday  ?  " 
said  Margaret,  when  Miss  Patty  had  inspected  Chloe,  never 
having  seen  her  before.  "  I  could  think  of  no  other  way  to 
dispose  of  her,  so  that  she  should  not  be  at  hand  when  Chloe 
came." 

"  She  wasn't  a  bit  of  trouble,  my  dear.  She  did  the 
washing  very  well,  and  I'm  sure  she'll  make  a  very  good 
worker,  and  be  very  useful  to  you — that  is,  my  dear,  suppos 
ing  that  you  were  going  to  stay  here." 

"  I  have  been  thinking,  Miss  Patty,"  said  Margaret,  after 
a  little  pause,  "  that  perhaps  you  might  like  to  let  Jotham 
have  your  house,  and  come  to  live  in  mine — when  I  am  gone, 
and  keep  Nancy  to  do  your  work  and  make  you  comfortable. 
Your  house  is  hardly  large  enough  to  admit  of  your  taking 
any  body  else  into  it,  and  I  could  never  feel  happy  to  leave 
you  alone,  with  your  sister  to  take  care  of.  If  you  had  my 
house,  just  as  it  is,  with  Nancy  to  do  your  work — don't  you 
think  it  would  be  very  nice  ?" 

"  Indeed  it  would,  my  dear,"  replied  Miss  Patty,  in  a 
plaintive  little  voice.  "  It's  very  kind  of  you  to  plan  for  me. 
Are  you  going  right  away  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  not  for  some  time  yet,  dear  Miss  Patty ;  we 
shall  have  many  a  pleasant  day  together  before  I  go." 
14* 


322  MAKGAKET  : 

As  they  sat  together,  Miss  Patty  with  her  knitting  and 
Margaret  with  her  sewing,  they  talked  of  Chloe  and  Nance 
and  other  things ;  and  after  a  little  silence,  Margaret  told 
Miss  Patty  her  story.  Notwithstanding  its  glad  ending, 
Miss  Patty's  gentle  heart  was  wrung  with  sympathy,  and 
it  was  some  time  before  the  spectacles  and  the  knitting 
were  resumed. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  see  Mr.  Russell,"  she  said  then,  with  a 
sigh. 

"  You  will  see  him  this  very  day,  Miss  Patty,"  said  Mar 
garet.  The  knitting  was  dropped  again,  and  the  hands  were 
lifted  in  amazement.  "  He  is  coming  here  to-day,"  added 
Margaret,  "so  you  will  have  your  wish  sooner  than  you 
thought." 

"  I'll  just  stay  to  take  one  look  at  him,  and  hear  him 
speak,  and  then  run  home.  I  wouldn't  be  in  the  way,  for  the 
world  and  all." 

"  You  shall  not  run  home,  and  you  cannot  be  in  the 
way,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  Look  !  "  cried  George,  as  they  left  the  dinner-table ;  "  if 
there  isn't  Mrs.  Davis'  carriage,  and  Mrs.  Davis  and  Charlie 
and  Nellie ! "  He  and  Jack  ran  out  to  the  gate,  where 
Chloe  was  already  stationed,  and  Margaret  followed. 

"I'm  not  going  to  stop  a  minute,  Margaret,"  said  Mrs. 
Davis  ;  "  has  your  friend  arrived  ?  " 

Margaret  shook  her  head. 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  of  it.  I  was  afraid  he  might  have  the 
start  of  me.  I'm  going  to  Jonesville  to  get  some  things, 
and  to  make  one  or  two  calls,  and  I'm  going  to  take  Miss 
Patty  and  the  boys  with  me.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go, 
boys  ?  " 

"  Hurrah  !  I  guess  we  would." 

"  Well,  run  and  get  your  caps,  and  ask  Miss  Patty  to 
come  to  the  door.  Miss  Patty,"  she  called,  "  don't  you  want 
to  take  a  drive  with  me  and  the  children  ?  It  will  do  you 
good." 

Miss  Patty  said  she  should  like  it,  very  much,  and  as- 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  323 

sured  Margaret  of  it  again,  when  she  begged  her  not  to  go, 
unless  she  would  rather  than  not. 

"  I  will  take  Biddy,  too,  if  she'll  go  at  such  short  notice 
without  a  fuss  ?  I  know  Mrs.  Thomas  needs  some  one  now, 
and  I  can  stop  and  see  Bridget  about  it." 

Biddy  was  consulted,  and  found  tractable.  In  a  few 
minutes  the  noisy  carriage-load  departed,  leaving  Margaret 
to  the  quiet  anticipation  of  Mr.  Russell's  visit ;  and  she  had 
not  long  to  wait.  Chloe,  who  divided  her  time  about  equally 
between  outdoor  and  indoor  duties — thus  far  generally  self- 
appointed — espied  him  as  soon  as  he  came  in  sight  at  the 
turn  of  the  road,  and  called,  "  Miss  Marg'et,  Massa  Russell's 
a  comin' !  dar's  Massa  Russell  down  dar ! " 

Margaret  saw  that  it  was  true.  "  Get  down  now,  Chloe," 
she  said ;  "  can't  you  wipe  the  dishes  for  Nancy,  and  clean 
the  knives  ?  " 

Chloe  jumped  down,  and  with  her  hands  clasped  over  her 
head  went  slowly  towards  the  kitchen,  but  stopped  to  ask  if 
"  dat  ar  little  white  gal  was  comin1  back  ag'in  ?  " 

"  No,  she  isn't,  Chloe.     Why  ?  do  you  want  her  to  ?  " 

"  No,  Miss  Marg'et,  I  doesn't.  I'se  gwine  to  have  my 
bed  an'  my  clo'es  back  agi'n,  now,  ain't  I  ?  " 

"  Your  bed,  Chloe,  but  not  your  clothes.  Poor  Biddy 
has  no  dresses  except  what  used  to  be  yours,  and  I  am  sure 
you  would  not  like  to  take  them  from  her,  when  you  have  so 
many  nice  ones." 

"  Dey's  mine,"  said  Chloe,  unwilling  to  give  up  her  rights. 
She  darted  into  the  kitchen  as  Mr.  Russell  arrived  at  the 
gate. 

She  and  Nancy  were  on  very  friendly  terms  now,  appa 
rently  oblivious  of  the  fact  that  they  had  ever  been  on  any 
other,  though  Chloe  was  inclined  to  patronize  Nancy,  on  the 
ground  that  she  had  lived  there  before,  and  was  thoroughly 
posted  as  to  Margaret's  ways  and  wishes.  Nancy  took  the 
patronage  very  meekly,  recognizing  Chloe's  superiority  in 
this  respect. 

"  Oh,  laus,  Nance,"  exclaimed  Chloe  as  she  came  to  the 


324:  MARGARET  t 

table,  "  you  dunno  how  to  wipe  de  dishes.  Gimme  dat  tow'! 
I'se  gwine  to  show  you  how  to  do't."  She  seized  a  plate, 
and  expended  strength  and  pains  enough  upon  it  to  have 
answered  for  a  dozen.  "  You  jes  see  now,  Nance,  how  dat 
ar  shines.  Dat's  de  way  Miss  Marg'et  wants  um  to  look." 

"  I  reckon  she  don't  want  yer  ter  be  all  day  at  one  on 
'em,"  answered  Nance,  resuming  her  dishcloth. 

"'Course  she  don't,  an'  who's  a  gwine  to  be  all  day?" 
returned  Chloe  sharply,  but  the  rest  of  the  dishes  were  made 
to  shine  in  much  less  time. 

The  quiet,  undisturbed  hours  of  that  summer  afternoon 
were  full  of  sweetness  to  Margaret  and  Mr.  Russell,  the 
more  that,  in  the  fuller  interchange  of  thought  and  feeling, 
they  came  upon  no  discords,  born  of  time  and  separation. 
Their  experiences  of  life  had  been  different,  but  they  had 
not  to  learn  each  other  anew,  as  might  have  been  the  case, 
after  so  many  years.  They  only  realized  more  and  more  the 
strength  and  completeness  of  the  bond  that  united  them, 
which  no  length  of  time  or  distance  could  break  or  lessen. 

"  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  as,  late  in  the  afternoon, 
the  conversation  came  back  to  their  meeting  in  the  woods, 
"  that  day  seems  longer  ago  than  the  one  in  which  I  first-^ 
told  you  of  my  love.     I  can  hardly  believe  that  we  have  not- 
been  walking  side-by-side  all  our  lives.     I  should  like  to  see 
if  we  can  find  the  sweet  little  nook  in  the  woods  yonder  that 
I  have  a  picture  of  in  my  mind.     I  am  almost  sure  it  was  a 
dream — the  parting,  and  that  meeting." 

He  looked  into  her  face,  and  a  shadow  came  over  his 
own.  "  Oh,  Margaret,  how  dark  and  desolate  my  heart  was 
without  the  light  of  these  dear  eyes.  I  can  only  wonder  how 
I  endured  the  loss." 

"Dear  Robert,  did  we  not  resolve  that  no  vain  regrets 
should  have  place  in  oar  thoughts  ?  I  cannot  bear  to  re 
member  that  you  were  ever  desolate." 

"  Forgive  me,"  Mr.  Russell  exclaimed,  "  for  being  un 
mindful  of  our  resolve  and  bringing  tears  to  these  '  sweetest 
eyes  were  ever  seen.'  " 


A   STORY  OF   LIFE   IN   A   PBATRIE   HOME.  325 

They  were  just  ready  for  their  walk,  when  Dr.  Somers 
appeared.  Margaret  withdrew  her  hand  involuntarily  from 
Mr.  Russell's  arm,  and  her  cheeks  glowed,  for  she  felt  the 
doctor's  keen  eyes  peering  into  their  relations  to  each  other. 

"  You  see  I  kept  my  promise,"  he  remarked,  getting  out 
of  his  chaise,  and  tying  his  horse.  "  I  hurried  up  other  cases 
for  the  sake  of  attending  to  yours  without  delay.  Where's 
Miss  Patty  ?  "  he  demanded  in  a  tone  that  said  as  plainly  as 
words,  "Why  isn't  she  looking  after  you?" 

"  She  has  gone  to  ride  with  Mrs.  Davis,"  replied  Marga 
ret  ;  and  Dr.  Somers  having  by  that  time  come  to  her  side, 
as  she  stood  near  Mr.  Russell,  she  introduced  them. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir  ?  I'm  glad  to  make  your  acquaint 
ance,  Mr.  Russell.  You  will  excuse  me  if  I  attend  to  my 
patient  at  once.  I  am  sorry  to  see  that  her  symptoms  are 
even  worse  than  I  anticipated,"  he  said,  anxiously. 

"  I  was  not  aware  that  Miss  Crosby  was  under  medical 
treatment,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  looking  from  the  doctor  to 
Margaret's  laughing,  blushing  face. 

"  I  am  not.  Dr.  Somers  is  an  incorrigible  tease,"  she 
exclaimed. 

" Look  out,  Miss  Crosby !  "  cried  the  doctor;  "  remember 
how  you  excited  my  fears  last  week,  and  again  yesterday, 
and — but  I  am  in  something  of  a  hurry,  and  if  Mr.  Russell 
will  excuse  you  for  a  few  minutes,  I  will  inquire  further  into 
your  symptoms,  and  leave  you  a  prescription." 

Mr.  Russell,  a  little  mystified,  bowed  his  assent,  and  the 
doctor  led  Margaret  into  the  house. 

"  Now  then — did  you  see  that  man  for  the  first  time  when 
he  came  with  Mrs.  More  yesterday  ?"  he  asked,  when  they 
were  in  the  sitting-room. 

"  No,  I  did  not,"  answered  Margaret. 

"  When  did  you  know  him  ?  in  St.  Louis,  or  long  ago  in 
New  York?" 

"  Long  ago  in  New  York." 

"  You  were  very  good  friends  then,  and  there  came  a  mis 
understanding,  eh  ?  And  now  he  is  going  to  take  you  away  1 


326  MAKGAKET  : 

You  needn't  tell  me — I  know  it ;  I  saw  it  in  his  eyes  when 
he  looked  at  you;  and  you  don't  object  to  going,  I  know,  by 
your  looking  so  happy  and  contented.  But  what's  going  to 
become  of  the  young  man  from  St.  Louis  ?  He  made  over's- 
eyes  at  you  too.  You'll  break  his  heart,  you  may  depend." 

"Do  not  say  that,  Dr.  Somers,"  exclaimed  Margaret, 
earnestly.  "  He  is  a  kind,  true  friend,  and  nothing  more." 

"  Well,  never  mind  him  now.  Is  Mr.  Russell  any  relation 
to  Mrs.  More  ?  " 

"  He  is  her  nephew." 

"  Is  he  the  Mr.  Russell  that  the  Davises  and  Thomases 
talk  so  much  about  ?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Margaret,  taking  a  step  towards  the 
door. 

"  Wait  a  minute,  child.  Isn't  he  the  man  who  started  the 
singing  that  Sunday  at  the  school-house?  That's  it!  I 
thought  I  had  seen  him  before.  I  had  to  leave  before  the 
service  was  ended,  but  I  remember  his  singfhg,  and  recall  his 
face.  Did  you  see  him  that  day  ?  " 

"  I  saw  him,  yes." 

"  But  not  to  speak  to  him  ?  Well,  well.  I  understand 
something  now  that  I  didn't  before.  Poor  child,  and  happy 
child.  I  congratulate  you  with  all  my  heart,"  and  he  gave 
her  a  fatherly  kiss.  "  Stay  here  a  moment ;  I  want  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Russell." 

Margaret  saw  the  smile  which  lighted  Mr.  Russell's  face 
as  he  received  Dr.  Somers's  greeting,  and  that  they  shook 
hands  in  the  most  cordial  manner ;  but  she  did  not  hear  what 
was  said.  The  doctor  soon  hurried  away,  and  almost  imme 
diately  after  he  was  gone,  Mrs.  Davis  stopped  to  say  that  she 
had  left  Miss  Patty  at  home,  as  it  was  late,  and  she  was 
going  to  take  the  hoys  home  with  her  to  tea ;  they  and  her 
children  had  been  concocting  some  wonderful  amusement 
for  the  evening ;  she  would  send  them  home  before  bed 
time.. 

George  and  Jack  were  inclined  to  relinquish  their  plans 
when  they  saw  Mr.  Russell,  but  Mrs.  Davis  prevented  it 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A    PRAIRIE    HOME.  327 

She  shook  hands  warmly  with  Mr.  Russell,  her  eager  eyea 
and  flushed  cheeks  showing  how  much  she  had  it  in  her  heart 
to  say,  if  she  but  had  an  opportunity. 

When  they  were  gone,  Margaret  turned  to  Mr.  Russell, 
saying,  "  I  feel  so  sorry  for  poor  little  Miss  Patty ;  I  am 
afraid  she  was  grieved  at  being  taken  home  so  unceremo 
niously." 

She  had  already  told  him  of  Mrs.  Davis's  kind  plot  for 
their  benefit. 

"  We  can  make  it  all  right,  can  we  not,  by  going  to  see 
her  ?  It  will  not  make  our  walk  much  longer  to  go  on  to 
her  house." 

Margaret  looked  her  thanks,  and  they  made  Miss  Patty's 
heart  proud  and  glad  by  paying  her  a  visit  in  her  wee  bit  of 
a  parlor.  She  did  not  say  to  herself  in  so  many  words,  that 
Margaret's  "  true  prince  "  had  come,  but  that  was  her  idea, 
which  was  ample  proof  of  the  lofty  opinion  she  had  formed 
of  Mr.  Russell. 

The  two  weeks  of  Mr.  Russell's  stay  drew  to  an  end 
speedily,  as  weeks  do  that  are  filled  with  happiness,  and  he 
was  to  leave  Moresville  on  Tuesday.  The  Saturday  before, 
Mrs.  More  came  to  the  farm-house,  and  took  Margaret  and 
the  boys  home  with  her,  to  spend  the  intervening  days ; 
and  days  they  were  that  could  not  be  surpassed  for  sweet 
ness  to  Margaret  and  Robert.  They  were  pleasant  days  to 
Mrs.  More  too,  and  each  one  made  Margaret  nearer  and 
dearer  to  her. 

One  morning,  while  Mr.  Russell  was  giving  the  boys 
another  riding-lesson,  and  intense  delight  thereby,  Mrs. 
More,  in  her  own  gentle  way,  led  Margaret  to  talk  of  her 
plans,  to  which  she  added  suggestions  that  at  once  com 
mended  themselves  to  Margaret's  good  sense ;  and  thankful 
she  was  to  feel  that  at  length  she  had  some  one's  judgment 
to  trust  in  besides  her  own. 

"  I  am  glad,  my  dear,"  Mrs.  More  said,  in  the  course  of 
conversation,  u  that  you  feel  kindly  disposed  towards  the  old 
house,  and  do  not  mind  the  unfashionable  location.  Robert 


328  MAKGAKET I 

told  me  how  you  felt  about  it,  and  I  must  confess  I  was  re 
lieved.  You  know  how  old  people  regard  old  things,  and  I 
did  not  like  to  think  of  having  my  dear  brother's  house  go 
into  the  hands  of  strangers.  You  know  "Robert  intends  to 
refurnish  it,  and  I  think  you  will  find  it  really  pleasant 
there." 

"Robert  did  not  speak  to  me  of  refurnishing  it,"  said 
Margaret ;  "  if  he  had,  I  should  have  told  him  that  I  would 
rather  not  have  it  done.  I  like  old  things  too,  and  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  have  him  put  aside  what  must  be  so  tenderly 
associated  with  his  earlier  years.  Will  you  not  tell  him  how 
I  feel  about  it  ?  " 

"  You  may  tell  him  yourself,  my  dear.  I  know  he  will 
be  delighted  to  hear  you  say  it.  You  will  not  be  sorry,  I  am 
sure,  when  you  see  the  house,  for  the  furniture  suits  it.  It  is 
old-fashioned,  of  course,  but  it  is  rich  and  handsome,  and  very 
well  preserved,  too.  Janet  is  a  careful  body." 

On  Sunday,  Margaret  and  Mr.  Russell  sat  side  by  side 
in  the  village-church  ;  together  their  hearts  arose  in  thanks 
giving,  and  their  hearts  and  voices  united  in  the  songs  of 
praise.  How  vividly  the  first  tones  of  that  clear,  sweet  ten 
or,  recalled  to  Margaret  the  scene  in  the  little  red  school- 
house. 

"  Two  months  will  seem  very  long,  Margaret,"  Mr.  Rus 
sell  said,  when  the  moment  for  parting  came.  "  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  hardly  be  a  patient  waiter ;  I  shall  count  the  hours 
till  they  bring  me  to  you  again.  But  your  letters  will  be  my 
solace.  Good-by.  The  dear  Father  forever  bless  and  keep 
you." 

Margaret  wondered  at  herself  that  no  sense  of  loneliness 
came,  as  she  lost  sight  of  him  she  loved  in  the  gray  morning- 
light,  and  said,  "  I  shall  not  see  him  again  for  two  whole 
months."  Mrs.  More  wondered,  too,  to  see  the  cloudless 
face  at  the  breakfast-table  an  hour  later.  It  was  another 
mark,  Mrs.  More  thought,  of  Margaret's  cheerful  temper. 
Margaret  thought,  "How  foolish  and  ungrateful  I  should  be, 
if  I  could  feel  lonely  and  downcast  now." 


A  STORY  OF  LIFE   IN  A  PKAIKIE  HOME.  329 

Honora's  admiration  for  Margaret  was  beyond  the  power 
of  even  her  extensive  vocabulary  to  express.  She  embraced 
every  opportunity  to  take  a  "  good  look  "  at  her,  and  "  made 
bold,"  when  Mr.  Russell  was  gone,  to  ask  her  into  her  wing- 
room,  where  she  told,  the  story  of  Chloe's  invasion,  and  gave 
some  intimations  of  the  system  "  of  hedication  under  which 
that  foolish  Miss  Lucinda  kept  the  child." 

Margaret  and  the  boys  took  their  leave  Wednesday 
morning,  a  little  before  Mrs.  Rice  and  Lucinda  were  to  ar 
rive,  and  Mrs.  More  could  not  help  sighing  over  the  ex 
change.  Honora  expressed  her  mind  freely  on  the  subject 
in  her  own  department,  and  even  to  Mrs.  More. 

Margaret's  first  duty,  when  she  was  once  more  at  home, 
was  not  a  welcome  one — that  of  informing  her  sister  of  her 
engagement.  But  she  tried  not  to  let  the  painful  thoughts 
which  pressed  upon  her  as  she  wrote,  cast  more  than  a  pass 
ing  shadow  over  her  happiness. 

Her  letter  to  Dr.  Doane,  who  had  returned  to  St.  Louis, 
leaving  Fanny  with  her  gay  friends  at  the  East,  was  such  as 
a  confiding  sister  might  write  to  a  kind  brother.  It  speedily 
brought,  as  she  knew  it  would,  an  answer  full  of  warm  and 
hearty  congratulations.  He  insisted  upon  her  coming  to  his 
house  at  once,  and  not  leaving  it  until  she  went  to  her  own 
in  New  York. 

In  due  time  Fanny's  reply  came,  and  its  tone  was  much 
more  sisterly  than  Margaret  had  expected. 

The  truth  was,  Fanny  had  been  at  first  perfectly  over 
whelmed,  fairly  terrified,  by  the  tidings  from  Margaret.  She 
could  almost  have  welcomed  death,  as  an  escape  from  the 
exposure  and  shame  which,  for  the  time,  seemed  inevitable. 
But  .she  was  soon  able  to  reason  away  the  incubus  of  i'car 
and  dread,  and  prepare  to  meet  the  event  in  a  manner  that 
should  redound  to  her  social  honor  and  distinction. 

She  wrote,  after  expressing  her  pleasure  at  hearing  of 
the  renewal  of  the  old  engagement,  that  she  had  suffered 
tortures  from  the  remembrances  of  her  own  homely  wed 
ding,  and  that  it  was  not  worth  while  for  Margaret,  as  well 


330  MAEGAEET  : 

as  herself,  to  emerge  into  society  and  married  life  from  a 
little  farm-house  on  the  prairies.  She  must  come  to  St. 
Louis,  and  have  a  wedding  that  should  be  in  keeping  with 
the  position  she  was  to  take  as  the  wife  of  Robert  Rus 
sell,  the  rich  and  influential  New  York  merchant.  It  was 
settled  in  her  own  mind  that  she  would  astonish  St.  Louis 
by  the  style  and  elegance  of  the  affair,  but  she  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  tell  Margaret  the  extent  of  her  plans.  "  I 
shall  be  in  New  York  in  a  few  days,"  she  wrote,  "  and  will 
purchase  your  laces,  dresses,  etc.  Ordinary  things  you  can 
procure  in  St.  Louis,  where,  of  course,  you  will  go  as  soon 
as  you  can  dispose  of  the  farm.  Write  me  at  once, 
as  I  shall  hasten  my  return  home,  to  prepare  for  the  wed 
ding." 

Nothing  could  have  been  farther  from  Margaret's  thoughts 
than  to  sell  the  farm,  beyond  the  few  acres  that  was  needful 
to  provide  her  outfit,  or  than  having  her  wedding  in  St. 
Louis.  She  smiled  at  the  idea  of  her  ever  being  annoyed 
by  memories  of  her  humble  home.  It  never  seemed  dearer 
to  her  than  now ;  even  the  prospect  of  forsaking  it  for  two 
or  three  weeks,  and  going  to  St.  Louis,  as  Mrs.  More  had 
advised  and  she  felt  to  be  necessary,  gave  her  many  a  pang. 
She  longed  to  remain  there  quietly  until  the  two  months 
had  passed. 

In  her  reply  to  Fanny's  letter  she  explained  her  wishes, 
expressing  the  hope  that  her  sister  would  bear  with  her 
primitive  notions — her  only  ambition  with  regard  to  her 
wedding  being,  that  it  might  be  in  her  own  home,  and  that 
those  she  loved  should  be  with  her.  She  assured  Fanny 
that  she  would  profit  by  her  experience,  and  not  trust  to 
country  dressmakers  and  her  own  unsophisticated  ideas,  and 

would  gladly  avail  herself  of  Madame  L 's  skill,  as  well 

as  of  her  sister's  taste,  in  the  matter  of  dresses  and  laces. 

However  disappointed  and  indignant  Fanny  might  have 
been,  she  was  obliged  to  submit  to  Margaret's  decision,  and 
consoled  herself  by  looking  forward  to  winter  visits  at  Mrs. 
Robert  Russell's.  She  referred  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Doane 


A  STORY   OP  LIFE  IN  A  PRAIEIE   HOME.  331 

had  just  joined  her  party  at  Newport,  and  that  he  did  not 
seem  in  the  least  astonished  when  she  told  him  of  Mar 
garet's  engagement.  But  she  did  not  Bpeak  of  any  plans  of 
his  own,  so  that  Margaret  was  surprised,  and  very  sorrowful 
to  learn,  when  she  next  heard  from  Dr.  Doane,  that  his 
cousin  had  returned  home,  and  was  intending  to  sail  for 
Europe  in  a  short  time,  much  to  the  grief  of  his  father  and 
mother. 

A  few  days  later  came  a  note  of  congratulation  from  Mr. 
Doane,  assuring  Margaret  of  his  sincere  and  unchanging  re 
gard  for  her,  and  his  high  esteem  for  Mr.  Russell,  and  wish 
ing  her  all  possible  happiness.  It  had  been  the  cause  of 
real  pain  to  Margaret,  that  such  powers  as  Mr.  Doane  pos 
sessed  should  fail  of  their  highest  use.  She  longed  to  see 
him  living  a  more  earnest  life,  and  it  was  with  a  deeper  feel 
ing  than  that  of  personal  regret,  that  she  heard  of  his  inten 
tion  to  travel  again. 

August  passed  quickly  by,  and  with  the  first  of  Septem 
ber,  Margaret's  arrangements  for  leaving  home  for  a  time 
being  completed,  she  started  alone  to  join  Fanny  on  her  way 
from  New  York.  Miss  Patty  was  left  in  charge  of  the  boys 
and  Nancy — Chloe  being  taken  to  Mrs.  More's  to  await  Mar 
garet's  return.  The  boys  shed  many  tears  at  parting  with 
their  aunt.  George,  especially,  was  sadly  incredulous  as  to 
the  certainty  that  she  Avould  come  back  to  be  married.  He 
had  yielded  his  claims  to  his  aunt  as  the  head  of  his  grand 
prospective  home,  very  cheerfully ;  but  he  seemed  possessed 
with  the  idea  that  Mr.  Russell  would  not  wait ;  that  he 
would  go  to  St.  Louis,  and  take  her  in  state  to  his  grand 
house  in  New  York;  and  it  required  all  Margaret's  skill  to 
allay  his  fears  of  such  a  catastrophe. 

AVhen  the  sisters  met,  there  were  no  tokens  of  unwelcome 
memories  in  Fanny's  manner.  As  they  talked  of  the  ap 
proaching  marriage,  it  was  Margaret's  eye  that  refused  to 
seek  her  sister's — Fanny's  never  quailed. 

Dr.  Doane  met  them  when  they  reached  St.  Louis,  and 
the  few  weeks  of  separation  seemed  to  have  healed  the  little 


332  MAEGABET  : 

wounds  in  his  love  for  Fanny,  for  he  welcomed  her  with  the 
tenderness  of  a  satisfied  lover. 

"  Why,  Fred — cousin  Fred !  "  cried  Fanny,  as,  in  passing 
through  the  depot,  they  came  face  to  face  with  Mr.  Doane. 
"  Where  are  you  going  ?  You  surely  are  not  starting  for 
Europe  now,  just  as  we  arrive  to  enjoy  your  society  ?  " 

"  I  am  indeed  about  to  start  for  New  York,"  answered 
Mr.  Doane,  shaking  hands  with  her  and  with  Margaret. 

"  You  will  not  be  at  Margaret's  wedding  ?  "  said  Fanny. 
"  What  a  pity !  But  I  must  say,  you  look  as  if  you  needed 
to  go  to  Europe  for  your  health.  What  have  you  been  doing 
with  yourself  since  you  left  Newport  so  suddenly  ?  " 

"  Nothing  unusual,  I  believe,"  replied  Mr.  Doane.  And, 
as  an  acquaintance  of  Fanny's  claimed  her  attention,  he  said 
to  Margaret,  who  was  perplexed  and  troubled  by  his  altered 
manner,  "  I  shall  not  be  missed  from  the  marriage-feast." 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  you  will  be  missed,"  exclaimed  Mar 
garet.  "  I  have  not  so  many  friends  that  I  could  fail  to  miss 
one  of  the  very  kindest  I  ever  had.  I  am  so  glad  to  have 
met  you  now ;  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your  kind  note,  and  to 
tell  you  how  heartily  I  wish  you  a  pleasant  journey  and  a 
safe  return — but  beyond  all,  I  wish  you  could  know  what 
happiness  is — the  best  and  truest." 

She  said  this  rapidly,  with  her  truthful  eyes  fixed  on  his, 
and  as  he  listened,  his  pale  face  flushed  and  his  lips  trembled. 
""Your  kind  wishes  will  be  the  best  guarantee  I  could 
have  of  my  safety,  and  of  my  attaining  to  that  real  happiness. 
I  believe  they  will  follow  me  like  a  holy  spell,  and  I  thank 
you  for  them.  Good-by." 

He  held  her  hand  in  a  close,  firm  clasp  for  a  moment, 
with  an  expression  in  his  eyes  that  haunted  her  for  many  a 
day,  and,  with  a  hasty  good-by  to  Dr.  Doane  and  Fanny,  dis 
appeared  in  the  crowd. 

Margaret's  two  weeks  in  St.  Louis  were  very  busy,  and, 
on  the  whole,  very  pleasant  ones.  Fanny,  still  feeling  the 
exhilaration  of  a  gay,  successful  season,  was  bright  and 
amiable,  and  never  more  attractive,  as  Margaret  often  said  to 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PliAIKIE    HOME.  333 

herself.  If  there  was  a  tinge  of  envy  in  the  contemplation 
of  her  sister,  as  living  in  New  York  with  her  choice  of  its 
society,  she  was  too  politic  to  let  it  appear.  She  might  have 
found  it  more  difficult  to  conceal  it,  if  Dr.  Doane's  position 
had  been  less  respectable,  or  her  house  less  elegant,  and  if 
she  had  been  less  beautiful,  or  less  able  to  gratify  her  love 
of  dress  and  show. 

In  due  time  Margaret  returned  home,  with  only  two  short 
weeks  left  before  her  marriage-day.  That  day  pressed  eager 
ly  on,  and  when  it  came,  it  was  as  perfect  as  any  that  ever 
queenly  October  granted  to  a  bride  ;  a  day  that  June  might 
well  have  claimed,  only  that  the  fields  and  woods  had  laid 
aside  their  summer  robes  of  green,  and  were  arrayed  in  those 
of  autumn's  bright  hues. 

The  little  farm-house  wore  a  holiday  look,  for  a  profusion 
of  choice  and  beautiful  flowers  that  came  to  Moresville  the 
night  before,  had  greeted  Margaret  when  she  first  entered 
the  sitting-room,  and  they  transformed  it  into  a  fair  and  fra 
grant  place  as  she  arranged  them,  her  face  the  while  telling 
of  happy,  loving,  and  lovely  thoughts. 

Then  there  was  Miss  Patty,  in  her  new  cap  and  black 
silk — Margaret's  gifts  ;  and  Jotham  and  Nance  in  fine  array, 
busy  and  important  as  if  the  whole  responsibility  rested 
with  them.  Chloe  was  everywhere,  investigating  and  ad 
miring  ;  now  watching  operations  in  the  kitchen,  now  peer 
ing  in  at  the  flowers ;  but  chiefly  she  favored  the  gate-post, 
as  it  gave  her  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole,  and  nothing 
of  importance  could  happen  without  her  knowledge.  The 
boys  were  as  excited  and  alert  as  Chloe  herself,  with  no  end 
of  questions  to  ask  and  comments  to  make,  to  all  of  which 
Dr.  Doane  patiently  listened  and  replied,  while  Fanny,  ani 
mated  and  graceful  in  her  rich  lavender  silk  and  point-laces, 
was  ready  to  receive  the  guests. 

When  Margaret  had  given  the  last  touch  to  the  flowers, 
she  went  to  her  own  little  room,  where  Mrs.  Davis  awaited 
her  coming ;  and  some  minutes  before  Mrs.  More's  carriage 
arrived,  she  sat  in  her  bridal  dress — a  soft  India  muslin,  with 


334  MARGARET. 

white  azalias  in  her  hair,  and  on  her  bosom,  where  reigned  a 
serenity  as  sweet  as  Nature's  own.  No  wonder  that  her 
friend  was  silent  from  very  lack  of  words  that  could  express 
her  sense  of  that  rare  loveliness. 

Margaret  was  dreamily  conscious  of  Dr.  Doane's  coming 
to  her,  and  saying,  with  grave  tenderness,  that  the  bride 
groom  waited — and  of  descending  with  him  to  the  parlor, 
where  she  received  a  vague  impression  of  friends  and  flow 
ers,  and  the  glad  sunshine  and  bright  landscape  through  the 
open  door.  Nothing  was  real  and  distinct  but  the  face  and 
voice  of  him  who  came  to  meet  her;  and  it  was  sweetly, 
solemnly  real,  when  she  stood  by  his  side  and  heard  Mr. 
Thomas  speak  the  words  that  united  them  forever,  and  lis 
tened  to  the  earnest  prayer  for  a  blessing  upon  that  union. 

Dr.  Doane  and  Fanny  were  the  first  after  the  bridegroom 
to  greet  the  bride ;  then  came  the  boys,  and  Mrs.  More. 
What  warm  congratulations  and  fervent  benedictions  were 
lavished  by  the  friends— few,  but  tried  and  true — who  were 
gathered  in  that  little  room :  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Somers,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Davis,  the  Thomases,  Miss  Patty,  and  all.  How  they 
rejoiced  in  Margaret's  happiness— 'but  how  they  grieved  to 
lose  her. 

As  soon  as  the  ceremony  was  over,  Nancy  had  left  her 
corner,  and  gone  sobbing  into  the  kitchen,  and  Jotham  and 
Bridget  followed,  wiping  their  eyes ;  but  Chloe  remained, 
and,  mounted  on  a  chair,  looked  on  with  absorbed  attention, 
until  Margaret  moved  from  her  place,  when  she  suddenly 
darted  to  her  side,  and,  with  her  usual  contortions,  held  up  a 
little  bouquet  of  the  gayest  autumn-flowers  she  had  been  able 
to  find.  Margaret  took  it,  but  before  she  had  time  to  speak, 
the  giver  had  disappeared. 

A  tasteful  lunch  was  served  under  the  direction  of  the 
competent  Honora,  and  by-and-by  the  time  for  the  partings 
came.  Amid  tearful  smiles  and  loving  words,  followed  by 
many  blessings,  the  carriage  rolled  away  with  Robert  and 
Margaret  Russell. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

I  have  seen  thy  heart  to-day, 

Never  open  to  the  crowd, 
While  to  love  me  aye  and  aye 

Was  the  vow  as  it  was  vowed 
By  thine  eyes  of  steadfast  gray. 

MRS.  BROWNING. 

IT  is  b-sarly  a  week  since  Margaret  came  to  her  new 
home,  and  she  sits  in  the  library  where  she  can  look  out  of 
the  window,  and  at  the  same  time  feel  the  pleasant  warmth 
of  the  fire.  It  is  the  first  of  November.  The  sun  shone  in 
the  early  part  of  the  day,  but  the  sky  is  overcast  now,  and 
large,  feathery  snow-flakes  fill  the  air  and  cover  the  roofs, 
and  cling  to  the  garments  of  the  passers-by,  whom  Margaret 
sees  vaguely,  while  her  eyes  and  heart  keep  watch  for  one. 
Now  she  turns  from  the  window  to  a  little  stand  near  by, 
which  holds  a  basket  of  flowers  ;  she  feasts  on  their  beauty 
and  fragrance,  and  listens  to  the  sweet  story  they  tell,  and 
have  been  telling  all  the  day.  Then,  as  her  eyes  return  to 
their  watch,  her  thoughts  go  wandering  down  the  track  of 
the  past  year,  and  if  she  finds  shadows  and  sadness  and  crosses, 
they  only  make  the  present  more  bright  by  contrast,  when 
her  thoughts  are  brought  back  from  their  wanderings  by  the 
sight  of  him  for  whom  she  waits.  She  receives  his  smile 
and  bow,  and  hastens  to  open  the  door. 

Tier  warm  hands  were  taken  in  his  cold  ones  as  he  bent 
to  kiss  her  welcoming  lips. 

"  What  would  be  the  consequence  if  my  snowy  coat 
should  come  in  contact  with  your  fine  silk  dress  ?  " 

"  Injury  to  the  dress,"  was  the  reply ;  and  as  Janet  ap 
peared  with  her  switch-broom,  Margaret  stood  at  a  safe  dis 
tance  while  the  snow  was  brushed  off,  and  they  went  into 
the  library. 


336  MAKGAEET : 

"  Those  beautiful  flowers,  Robert !  You  cannot  think 
how  much  I  have  enjoyed  them." 

Mr.  Russell  took  a  cluster  of  white  azalias,  and  fastened 
them  in  her  hair,  saying,  "  I  never  knew,  till  a  month  ago, 
how  lovely  azalias  were ;  and  white  muslin,  too.  I  wonder 
that  all  brides  do  not  wear  those,  instead  of  satin  and  silk 
and  lace  and  orange-blossoms." 

"  It  was  their  fitness  that  made  them  pretty  on  me,  Rob 
ert.  If  we  had  been  married  in  some  grand  city-church  or 
drawing-room,  instead  of  in  a  little  farm-house  sitting-room, 
can  you  imagine  me  in  white  muslin,  or  any  thing  but  satin 
and  point-lace  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  we  were  married  in  a  little  farm-house  parlor, 
and  in  white  muslin  and  azalias,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 

"  So  am  I,"  replied  Margaret. 

"  Now  that  we  are  married,  will  you  not  always  wear 
gray  silk  dresses,  like  the  one  you  have  on,"  asked  Mr.  Rus 
sell  demurely,  "  with  such  laces  and  pearls  ?  " 

"  Why,  only  yesterday,"  replied  Margaret,  laughingly, 
"  you  requested  me  always  to  wear  black  silk  and  corals. 
And  another  day  it  was  my  carefully-preserved  violet  which 
became  me  so  well !  Either  your  taste  is  fickle,  or  you  have 
the  happy  faculty  of  thinking  that  whatever  is,  is  the  most 
desirable." 

"  Or  else  the  face  of  my  wife  has  the  power  to  make 
whatever  she  wears  seem  the  very  thing  of  all  others  to  set 
off"  its  charms." 

Mr.  Russell  left  her  for  a  few  minutes  to  happy  medita 
tions  by  the  fire.  When  he  came  back,  Margaret  said,  "  I 
did  not  tell  you,  Robert,  that  Chloe  had  arrived.  She  came 
with  some  friend  of  Dr.  Somers ;  he  assured  me  that  she 
behaved  very  well  all  the  way." 

"  I  am  glad  she  has  reached  us  safely,"  returned  Mr.  Rus 
sell.  "  What  news  did  she  bring  of  Miss  Patty,  and  the  rest 
of  the  good  people  ?  " 

"  She  has  not  been  in  a  very  talkative  mood.  She  seemed 
rather  overpowered  by  her  journey  and  her  arrival.  But  she 


A   STOKY    OF    LIFE    IN   A   PKAIEIE    HOME.  337 

brought  mo  a  letter  from  Miss  Patty,  written  in  the  oddest 
little  hand,  but  very  nicely  expressed,  which  tells  me  that 
they  are  all  well,  and  that  she  and  her  sister  are  settled  at 
the  farm-house  with  Nancy.  Moreover,  Jotham  went  to 
Miss  Patty  the  Sunday  after  we  came  away,  dressed  up  in  his 
best,  and  informed  her  that  he  was  going  to  be  married  to  a 
girl  in  Jonesville,  requesting  her  to  tell  me  when  she  wrote. 
So,  sure  enough,  there  is  a  Mrs.  Jotham  Wright,  as  Jotham 
intimated  there  might  be,  and  they  are  living  in  Miss  Patty's 
house.  But,  from  some  hints  he  threw  out,  she  thinks  he 
intends  to  own  the  farm  some  day,  and  live  in  the  farm 
house.  It  will  not  be  while  Miss  Patty  cares  to  stay  there." 

"  No,  it  would  never  do  to  let  Mrs.  Jotham  usurp  Miss 
Patty's  place  as  mistress-domo." 

"  I  had  a  letter  from  Fanny,  too,  to-day,  and,  to  my  great 
relief,  they  have  decided  to  let  George  and  Jack  go  to  school, 
instead  of  having  a  governess.  Mademoiselle  disappointed 
them,  and  they  could  find  no  one  to  take  her  place.  I  only 
hope  they  will  have  judicious  teachers,  who  will  appreciate  the 
good,  while  they  correct  what  is  faulty  in  their  characters." 

"They  are  splendid  little  fellows,"  said  Mr.  Russell; 
"  but  they  would  pity  themselves  more  than  they  do,  for 
being  separated  from  their  Aunt  Margaret,  if  they  knew  how 
much  they  have  lost." 

"  Don't  say  '  lost,'  Robert,  for  that  implies  that  the  good 
I  could  have  done  is  not  to  be  made  up  to  them." 

"  The  good  you  have  done  them  will  prove  an  accumula 
tive  possession,  and  there  is  no  reason  for  your  feeling  anxious 
on  their  account.  They  will  make  good  men,  and  men  of 
mark,  I  do  not  doubt.  By  the  way,  Clara's  letter  has  arrived 
at  length  ; "  and  he  produced  an  envelope  covered  with 
European  postmarks,  from  which  he  took  one  directed  to 
Margaret. 

"  When  you  have  read  that,  you  may  have  mine,"  he  said. 

He   watched   Margaret's   face  while  she  read  Mrs.   Blake's 

long-delayed  letter,  so   affectionate   and   sisterly,  regretting 

so  much  that,  she  could  not  be  at  the  wedding ;  but  antici- 

15 


338  MAEGARET  I 

pating  the  time,  not  far  distant,  when  she  should  be  able  tc 
realise,  what  seemed  too  good  to  be  true,  that  her  dear 
brother  was  happy  at  last,  as  he  deserved  to  be. 

"  What  does  your  sister  say,  Margaret  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Rus 
sell,  as  she  folded  the  letter,  and  met  his  look. 

"  Very  pleasant  things,"  answered  Margaret,  handing  it 
to  him,  and  taking  the  other,  that  brought  tears  to  her 
eyes  and  the  warm  color  to  her  cheeks,  so  full  was  it  of  en 
thusiastic  love  for  him,  and  of  lavish  praises  of  herself. 
When  she  had  read  it,  Mr.  Russell  gave  her  a  little  packet, 
which  she  opened,  and  found  to  contain  an  exquisite  sapphire 
ring. 

"  It  is  the  '  little  token  of  a  sister's  love '  that  Clara 
refers  to,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  taking  the  ring  and  placing  it 
upon  her  finger. 

She  looked  into  its  clear  blue  depths  a  moment,  and,  with 
her  smiling  eyes  fixed  on  Mr.  Russell's,  she  pressed  her  lips 
to  the  pearl  ring  and  the  plain  gold  wedding-ring  upon  her 
third  finger. 

"  Several  people  have  been  here  to-day,"  Margaret  said, 
as  they  sat  at  dinner  a  little  later ;  and  she  mentioned  several 
names,  among  them  those  of  Mrs.  Thorne  and  Miss  Thorne. 

"  I  did  not  know  that  the  Thornes  had  returned  to  town," 
said  Mr.  Russell.  "  Did  you  find  them  pleasant  ?  " 

"  Very,  indeed.  I  was  particularly  attracted  to  Claudia, 
I  think  her  mother  called  her.  She  has  one  of  the  sweetest 
faces  I  ever  saw,  and  her  manners  are  such  a  pretty  mixture 
of  womanly  dignity  and  childlike  simplicity.  But  I  thought 
she  seemed  sad,  and  did  not  look  well.  Isn't  her  health  good  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  at  all  good  in  June,  when  I  saw  her  last ; 
but  I  hoped  she  would  have  become  strong  again  by  this 
time.  I  am  sorry,  too,  to  hear  that  she  seemed  sad — though 
she  has  had  reason  for  being  down-hearted,  poor  child  ! — but 
I  believe  brighter  days  will  come  yet." 

"  I  was  sure  you  were  a  special  friend  of  hers,"  said  Mar 
garet,  "  for  she  listened  eagerly  whenever  your  name  waa 
spoken,  and  expressed  an  earnest  wish  to  see  you." 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  339 

"  I  was  thinking,  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  "  that  I  would 
tell  you  something  about  Claudia  before  she  called,  for  I 
knew  you  would  take  her  to  your  heart  if  you  knew  she  was 
in  trouble  ;  she  needs  just  such  help  as  you  could  give  her, 
if  you  would  be  a  sort  of  elder  sister  to  her.  You  can  ima 
gine  that  Mrs.  Thorne  would  not  be  very  leniently  disposed 
towards  an  only  child,  who  should  dare  to  love  a  man  whom 
she  considered  ineligible." 

"  Oh,  Robert,  is  it  a  trouble  like  that  ?  "  exclaimed  Mar 
garet.  "  Poor  Claudia,  indeed !  Mrs.  Thorne  is  very  gra 
cious  and  affable,  and  evidently  very  fond  and  proud  of  he* 
daughter ;  but  I  can  imagine  that  her  worldly  wisdom  would 
be  severe  and  unbending ; "  and  the  sweet  face,  with  its 
sorrowful  shadow,  came  before  her  again  and  again,  as  she 
talked  with  her  husband  of  other  things. 

After  dinner,  as  they  sat  by  the  library-fire,  Mr.  Russell 
told  her  the  story  of  Claudia's  and  Philip's  love,  as  well  as 
of  the  peril  Philip  had  escaped,  knowing  that  he  could  not 
more  surely  enlist  her  womanly  interest  for  his  young  friend. 

"  But  how  can  I  help  Claudia,  Robert  ?  "  Margaret  asked. 
"  Do  you  think  her  mother  will  allow  me  to  be  her  friend  ? 
Knowing  that  you  are  so  much  interested  in  Philip,  will  she 
not  be  suspicious  of  my  influence  with  Claudia  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  Margaret.  If  it  were  not  that  I  received  a 
rebuke  for  my  conceit  from  Aunt  Clara,  last  summer,  upon  a 
kindred  topic,  I  would  just  hint  at  a  reason  for  Mrs.  Thome's 
being  especially  on  her  guard — to  save  her  pride ;  as  it  is,  I 
forbear." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  cried  Margaret,  laughing.  "  But 
oh,  Robert,  I  don't  see  that  you  profited  by  your  aunt's 
rebuke." 

"  Do  you  not  ?  Well — at  least  it  is  worth  the  effort,  to 
give  Claudia  more  cheerful  views  of  life ;  to  teach  her  how 
trials  may  be  made  the  means  of  continual  growth  in  strength 
and  grace.  I  might  point  your  instructions,  by  giving  her  a 
little  chapter  from  your  life,  my  darling." 

"  If  she  does  not  know  the  one  source  of  grace  and 


340  MAKGARET : 

strength,  I  don't  see  how  she  can  bear  her  burden.  I  should 
like  to  teach  her  where  to  lay  it.  But  I  feel  hopeless  of  get 
ting  near  enough  to  any  one,  in  this  great,  busy  city,  to  be 
of  use." 

"  Never  fear,  dearest,  but  that  you  will  find  means  of 
giving  help  and  comfort.  I  know  plenty  of  humble,  sorrow 
ful  homes,  where  you  may,  and  will  be,  the  ministering 
angel ;  plenty  of  wayward  hearts,  that  need  just  your  guid 
ing,  helping  hand.  Tell  me,  now,  what  you  have  been  doing 
to-day  besides  receiving  visitors." 

u  I've  been  such  an  idler  of  late,  Robert,  that  I  find  it 
very  hard  to  be  any  thing  else.  But  I  think  I  have  succeeded 
in  convincing  Janet  that  I  am  not  going  to  be  a  fine  lady, 
restricting  my  attentions  to  the  drawing-room  ;  that  is  some 
thing." 

"  She  has  been  supreme  so  long,  that  I  am  afraid  she  does 
not  yield  very  gracefully,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 

"  She  does  very  well,  only  she  finds  it  difficult  to  appre 
ciate  that  one  fact.  I  think  we  shall  get  on  very  amicably. 
Well — I  kept  house  and  read  the  papers,  and  practised,  and 
Chloe  came,  and  visitors,  and  I  enjoyed  my  flowers  and 
watched  for  you !  You  see,  it  has  not  been  a  very  profitable 
day.  I  hope  to  have  'a  better  record  before  long." 

"  I  think  you  have  no  reason  to  find  fault  with  this  day's 
record :  but  when  are  you  going  to  take  possession  of  my 
little  room?  I  want  you  to  make  whatever  changes  you 
like,  aud  consider  it  your  sitting-room — and  mine,  too,  you 
know.  I  am  tired  of  seeing  it  look  like  a  bachelor's  den." 

"  It  never  did,"  said  Margaret ;  "  it  could  not  have  a 
more  charming  air  than  it  has  now." 

"  Yes,  it  could ;  and  it  will,  when  your  work-basket  and 
book?  and  writing-desk  are  there,  and  I  am  sure  of  finding 
you  there  when  I  come  home,  as  I  shall  be,  if  you  take  the 
afternoon,  as  the  least  liable  to  interruptions,  for  your  books 
and  music,  making  that  your  study." 

"  Do  you  suppose  you  will  never  sigh  for  the  quiet  posses 
sion  of  your  sanctum,  Robert  ?  " 


A   STOEY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE    HOME.  341 

"  Always,  when  my  wife  is  in  it ;  never,  when  she  is  not. 
What  did  you  practise  to-day  ?  Let  me  hear  you  sing — some 
of  the  old  songs." 

"  Oh,  Robert,  let  us  sing  our  old  duets,"  said  Margaret ; 
"  I  looked  over  some  of  the  accompaniments  to-day."  They 
went  to  the  piano — a  new  and  excellent  one,  which  Marga 
ret  found  in  the  library  on  her  arrival — and  sang  several 
duets.  Then  they  fell  to  talking  of  old  times,  and  as  some 
thing  suggested  it,  Margaret  asked  Mr.  Russell  to  show  her 
the  picture  of  herself  that  Chloe  had  found.  He  led  her 
into  the  sanctum  and  opened  the  desk,  displaying  the  with 
ered  leaves  and  rosebuds,  and  reminding  her  of  the  time 
when  she  had  taken  them  from  her  dress  and  given  them  to 
him,  in  memory  of  the  happy  hour. 

"I  had  not  looked  at  them  or  the  picture  for  nine  years, 
Margaret,  when  Chloe  brought  them  to  light." 

"Ah,  Robert !"  sighed  Margaret,  pityingly.  "Tell  me, 
did  I  ever  look  like  this  ?  "  she  added,  examining  the  minia 
ture. 

"  The  fact  that  Chloe  knew  it  for  her  *  Miss  Marg'et ' 
shows  very  conclusively  that  you  look  like  it  now,  don't  you 
think  so?  And  then  only  think  of  my  recognizing  you  the 
moment  I  saw  you,  the  night  of  my  first  visit  to  the  farm ! " 

"  And  only  think  of  my  knowing  you  across  the  meadow, 
Robert !  What  conclusive  proof  that  you  are  the  same — as 
young  and  handsome  as  you  were  ten  years  ago  !  " 

"  Miss  Marg'et." 

It  was  Chloe's  voice  in  the  library. 

"  Wait,  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Russell ;  "  see  if  she  will 
venture  into  this  memorable  place.  Chloe,  come  in." 

"  I  want  to  ray  suthin'  to  Miss  Marg'et,"  answered  Chloe, 
in  a  muffled  voice. 

"Well,  come  in  and  say  it,  Chloe,"  said  Mr.  Russell, 
pleasantly.  "  Miss  Marg'et  is  here." 

C'hloe's  head  presently  appeared  at  the  door;  but  it  bob 
bed  back  again  instantly,  and  when  Margaret  went  to  see  what 
had  become  of  her,  she  was  sitting  on  the  floor  near  the  door 


342  MARGARET  : 

"Chloe,  what  are  you  afraid  of?"  she  asked.  "Why 
didn't  you  come  in,  when  Mr.  Russell  said  you  might  ?  " 

"  Dunno,"  whispered  Chloe. 

"  Were  you  afraid  your  feet  would  walk  to  the  desk,  and 
your  hands  open  the  drawers  in  spite  of  yourself?"  asked 
Mr.  Russell,  laughing  at  the  quick,  inquiring  look  she  gave 
him  out  of  the  corners  of  her  eyes. 

"  Dunno,"  answered  Chloe  again. 

"  Stand  up,  Chloe,  and  tell  me  what  you  wanted  to  say," 
said  Margaret. 

"  You  said  I  mout  fetch  in  dem  teapots  an'  cups  an' 
things,"  said  Chloe,  hanging  her  head  and  digging  her 
toes. 

"  So  I  did,  Chloe.     What  is  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  Dat  ar  Jan't  says  I  can't,  an'  I'se  afeard  she  ain't  gwine 
to  lemme." 

"  Go  back,  Chloe,  and  when  the  things  are  ready  she  will 
let  you  bring  them,  for  I  told  her  that  it  should  be  your 
task.  She  thinks  you  are  too  little,  perhaps  ;  but  you  must 
show  her  that  you  are  quite  big  enough." 

Chloe  went  hopping  briskly  from  the  room. 

"What  a  queer  little  thing  she  is,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 
"  She  continually  surprises  one  by  the  droll  things  she  does, 
anrl  the  good  feeling  and  genuine  amiability  she  displays ; " 
and  he  told  Margaret  of  her  act  of  kindness  to  the  little 
Irish  child.  They  were  still  talking  of  that  and  other  of 
her  doings,  when  she  came  in  with  the  tray,  and  arranged  the 
tea-things  upon  the  table  with  an  air  of  mingled  shyness  and 
importance. 

"  That  is  very  well  done,  Chloe,"  said  Margaret.  "  I 
think  Janet  will  be  willing  to  trust  you  after  this." 

Chloe  gave  a  little  chuckle  of  delight,  and  darted  out  of 
the  room. 

"  I  think  I  must  begin  to  mend  Chloe's  manners,"  said 
Margaret.  "  Her  odd  little  ways  have  been  such  a  source 
of  amusement  to  the  boys  and  me  that  I  couldn't  bear  to 
check  them.  But  now  that  we  are  not  countryfolk  any 


A    STORY   OF   LIFE   IN    A   PEAIRIE   HOME.  343 

more,  but  have  the  dignity  of  a  city-house  to  maintain,  I 
must  teach  her  to  walk  out  of  my  presence,  instead  of  dart 
ing  and  hopping,  and  not  to  dig  her  toes  and  make  grimaces 
and  contortions." 

"  It  seems  hard  to  make  her  walk  by  rule,  like  ordinary 
Cblocs  and  Marthas,"  said  Mr.  Russell.  "  Will  it  not  do  to 
let  her  take  her  own  time  to  lay  aside  such  specialties?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Robert.  Imagine  Mrs.  Thome  witness 
ing  such  an  exit  as  she  made  just  now !  She  would  set  me 
down  as  an  utter  heathen.  Chloe  will  learn  quickly.  She 
is  wonderfully  susceptible  of  improvement,  and  I  can  hardly 
comprehend  it,  when  I  think  what  her  life  must  have  been 
before  she  came  to  me." 

"  An  affectionate  heart  like  Chloe's  is  a  ready  medium 
for  reaching  a  benighted  soul,"  said  Mr.  Russell.  "Instruc 
tion  and  discipline  are  generally  fruitless,  without  kindness 
and  human  sympathy.  If  all  Chloes  could  be  so  fortunate 
as  to  find  'Miss  Marg'ets' — but  how  can  they,  poor  things, 
when  there  is  but  one  in  all  the  world  ! " 

"  What  a  misanthropical  sentiment,  Robert ! "  exclaimed 
Margaret 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  clear  and  bright,  with  ouly 
a  patch  of  snow  here  and  there  in  shady  places,  to  show  that 
there  had  been  a  foretaste  of  winter  the  day  before. 

In  the  morning  Mr.  Russell  and  Margaret  went  to 
church.  In  the  afternoon,  leaving  Janet  to  take  Chloe  with 
her,  they  went  down  to  the  tenement  houses,  where  Mr.  Rus- 
.  sell  had  established  a  Sunday-school,  composed  of  all  the 
grown  people  and  children  in  the  building,  who  could  attend, 
and  as  many  from  without  as  could  be  accommodated  in  the 
largo  room  set  apart  for  the  purpose. 

Margaret  was  introduced  to  many,  and  was  received  with 
a  homely  friendliness  that  went  to  her  heart.  Her  heart  was 
full,  as  she  saw,  by  the  respectful,  earnest  attention  they  gave 
to  every  word  he  spoke,  and  by  the  confidence  with  which 
troubles  and  anxieties  were  poured  into  his  ear,  what  her  hus 
band  was  to  these  people. 


344:  MAKGAKET  : 

Would  she  ever  know  how  closely  and  by  how  many 
"  bands  of  love  and  service  "  he  was  bound  to  the  "  world's 
sad  heart  ?  "  Never,  she  thought,  until  Christ  says  to  him, 
Inasmuch  as  ye  did  it  unto  these,  ye  did  it  unto  me. 

When  the  service — which  was  made  so  varied  that  the 
smallest  child  was  kept  interested  to  the  last — was  over, 
Mr.  Russell  took  Margaret  to  visit  one  or  two  families  where 
there  was  sickness  or  trouble,  and  saw  how  readily  her  gen 
tle,  sympathizing  words  won  trust  and  love. 

"  Well,  Margaret,"  he  asked,  as  they  walked  homeward, 
"  what  do  you  think  now,  about  the  probability  of  your  hav 
ing  work  to  do,  and  getting  near  to  any  one  in  this  great 
city  ?  " 

"  I  am  only  afraid  of  not  being  able  to  fulfil  the  great 
trust,"  answered  Margaret ;  "but  you  will  help  me,  Robert  ?  " 

"  No,  you  will  help  me,  my  beloved,"  Mr.  Russell  replied. 

In  the  evening  Janet  and  Reuben,  and  Martha  and  Chloe, 
came  to  the  library.  Mr.  Russell  read  in  the  Bible,  giving 
simple  practical  explanations  of  what  he  read,  and  he  and 
Margaret  sang,  those  who  could  joining  with  them,  and  after 
Mr.  Russell  had  prayed,  all  repeated  the  Lord's  Prayer,  and 
the  servants  said  good-night,  and  departed. 

In  the  course  of  a  week,  Margaret  and  Mr.  Russell  return 
ed  Mrs.  Thome's  and  Claudia's  call. 

"Do  you  think,"  Margaret  asked,  as  they  walked,  "that 
the  Thornes  know  of  Mr.  Ventnor's  being  a  professor?" 

"  I  think  it  doubtful,"  replied  Mr.  Russell,  "  as  they  have 
been  absent  all  the  summer  and  autumn  ;  and  they  would  not 
be  likely  to  seek  any  knowledge  of  him." 

"  Can't  you  contrive  to  make  it  known  to  them,  Robert  ? 
Is  it  not  possible  that  they  might  overlook  his  not  being  rich, 
if  they  knew  he  was  respected  and  had  a  fine  position  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Thorne  would  give  Claudia  and  Philip  his  blessing, 
gladly,  if  he  had  the  occasion.  It  is  only  the  worldly  mam 
ma  who  has  such  lofty  aspirations  for  her  daughter.  But  I 
shall  certainly  be  on  the  watch  for  an  opportunity  to  mention 
Philip's  improved  fortunes." 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   TEAIRIE    HOME.  345 

The  opportunity  was  not  wanting,  for  it  happened  that 
Mr.  "Wells,  the  gentleman  to  whom  Mr.  Russell  had  recom 
mended  Philip,  was  there,  being  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Thome's. 
In  the  course  of  the  conversation,  he  referred  to  the  appoint 
ment  of  Mr.  Ventnor  as  having  proved  eminently  satisfac 
tory.  "  We  are  greatly  indebted  to  you  for  naming  him,"  he 
said. 

"What  are  you  speaking  of?"  asked  Mr.  Thome-,  who 
had  caught  the  name. 

"  Of  the  election  of  Mr.  Ventnor  to  the  Professorship  of 
Belles-Lettres  in University,"  replied  Mr.  Russell. 

"  What !  the  Philip  Ventnor  whom  we  know — who  used 
to  visit  here — Professor  of  Belles-Lettres  ?  " 

"  You  seem  surprised,"  Mr.  Wells  remarked.  "  Have 
you  not  heard  of  it  before,  and  Mr.  Ventnor  an  acquaintance, 
too  ?  He  entered  upon  his  duties  in  September." 

Mr.  Thome  looked  at  his  wife,  but  she  was  at  the  moment 
speaking  to  Margaret ;  and  he  turned  to  Claudia,  nodding 
his  head  in  a  very  expressive  manner,  as  he  met  her  happy 
eyes. 

"  We've  been  out  of  town  for  several  months,"  he  said  to 
Mr.  Wells,  "  travelling  about  most  of  the  time,  and  have  not 
been  in  the  way  of  hearing  any  news  of  our  friends.  But  I 
rejoice  in  this  ;  I  always  liked  Mr.  Ventnor.  Helen,  did  you 
hear  what  Mr.  Wells  said  of  Mr.  Ventnor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  heard,  my  dear,  and  with  great  pleasure.  I  was 
just  remarking  to  Mrs.  Russell  how  entirely  Mr.  Ventnor 
had  dropped  from  our  circle  of  late.  I  am  not  at  all  sur 
prised  to  learn  that  his  talents  have  gained  him  such  a 
position." 

"  When  is  the  next  vacation  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Thome. 

"  Not  until  the  Christmas  holidays,"  answered  Mr.  Wells ; 
and  the  subject  was  dropped. 

When  Margaret  and  Mr.  Russell  rose  to  go,  Mrs.  Thorne 
said  that  she  hoped  Mrs.  Russell  would  not  look  upon  them 
in  the  light  of  mere  acquaintances.     She  felt  that  they  had  a 
claim  upon  her,  as  her  husband  had  been  a  friend  so  long. 
15* 


346  MAEGARET : 

As  Margaret  responded,  her  eyes  sought  Claudia's,  which 
were  fixed  wistfully  upon  her ;  and  when  she  held  out  her 
hand,  Claudia  clasped  it  in  both  of  hers,  saying,  with  the  im 
pulsiveness  of  a  child,  "  Will  you  be  my  friend  ?  I  love  you 
already."  Her  eyes  fell,  and  her  cheeks  flushed,  as  she 
realized  that  not  only  Mrs.  Russell,  but  her  mother  and  Mr. 
Russell,  had  heard  her  overture. 

"Indeed,  I  will,"  returned  Margaret  earnestly,  holding 
the  trembling  little  hands  in  hers  ;  "  and  you  shall  show  me 
that  you  really  desire  it  by  coming  to  see  me  very  soon,  and 
very  often." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Claudia,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  a  pertinacious  child  my  Claudia 
is,"  said  Mrs.  Thorne,  laying  her  hand  on  Claudia's  shoulder. 
"  You  must  not  let  her  encroach  upon  your  time  too  much, 
Mrs.  Russell,  as  I  see  she  will  be  in  danger  of  doing  from 
her  enthusiasm  at  this  early  day  of  your  acquaintance.  But 
who  can  marvel  at  it  ?  "  she  added,  with  an  air  of  the  most 
well-bred  flattery. 

One  day,  not  long  after  this,  Margaret  had  a  visit  from 
Mrs.  Sarelli  and  Paul  and  Angelica. 

Mr.  Russell  had  interested  her  in  their  sad  story,  but  he 
had  not  prepared  her  for  the  account  they  gave  of  his  gene 
rous  kindness,  and  for  their  fervent  gratitude.  As  Mrs. 
Sarelli  said,  it  was  a  relief  to  express  what  they  felt,  and  to 
talk  about  their  kind  friend  to  one  who  could  appreciate  it, 
as  his  own  wife  could. 

Margaret  insisted  upon  their  taking  lunch  with  her,  and 
the  charm  of  her  manner  won  even  Angelica  from  her  timid 
reserve.  They  all,  in  turn,  won  Margaret's  heart. 

"  I  have  heard  so  much  of  the  beauty  of  your  little  ones, 
Edith  and  Mary,  Mrs.  Sarelli,  that  I  am  impatient  to  see 
them.  I  wish  you  would  all  come  and  spend  a  whole  day 
with  me,"  Margaret  said,  as  they  were  preparing  to  leave  her. 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sarelli ;  and  Paul  and 
Angelica  looked  their  delight.  "  You  don't  know  what 
pleasure  it  would  give  us.  But  will  Saturday  be  a  conven- 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PEALRIE   HOME.  347 

lent  day  for  you?  It  is  the  only  one  in  which  I  am  at 
liberty." 

"  It  will  be  quite  as  convenient  as  any  other  day,"  replied 
Margaret.  "  Will  your  little  school  continue  through  the 
winter  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  shall  lose  one  or  two  of  my  smaller  scholars, 
but  most  of  them  live  near  enough  to  come  during  the 
winter." 

"  What  will  you  do  without  Paul  ?  "  asked  Margaret ; 
"  he  must  be  such  a  help  to.  you  in  every  way." 

"  He  is,  indeed ;  but  I  shall  do  very  well,  knowing  that 
he  is  happy,  and  improving  in  his  art." 

"  I  think  Mr.  Russell  said  he  was  to  begin  his  studies  in 
about  a  month,"  said  Margaret. 

"  Yes,  the  first  of  December,"  replied  Mrs.  Sarelli. 

"  We  will  try  to  find  him  a  boarding-place  near  us,"  said 
Margaret,  "  and  not  let  him  feel  quite  alone,  without  his 
mother  and  sisters." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  replied  Mrs.  Sarelli.  "  I  shall  feel 
perfectly  at  ease  about  him,  if  he  has  such  oversight." 

The  Christmas  holidays  came,  and  with  them  came 
Philip.  His  mother  and  sisters  were  envious  of  every  hour 
that  he  was  out  of  their  sight,  but  he  managed  to  spend  a 
good  many  with  Mr.  Russell  and  Margaret.  He  and  Mar 
garet  speedily  became  excellent  friends.  Claudia  had  grown 
to  be  a  constant  visitor.  She  came  nearly  every  day,  to  read 
or  sing  or  talk  with  Margaret.  But  it  was  tacitly  understood 
that,  while  Philip  was  in  town,  and  liable  to  drop  in  at  any 
time,  her  visits  should  be  discontinued ;  and  as  the  days  of 
the  short  vacation  passed,  Margaret  began  to  fear  that  their 
happiness  was  to  be  still  deferred. 

However,  one  day  Philip  appeared  with  a  joyful  face,  ex 
claiming,  almost  before  he  had  shaken  hands  with  Margaret, 
"  Mrs.  Russell,  are  you  going  to  Mrs.  Thome's  to-night  ?  " 

"  Yes,  we  are,"  answered  Margaret,  catching  at  the  pleas 
ant  truth,  and  Philip  confirmed  her  conjecture. 

"  So  am  I !  "  he  cried.     "  I  found  the  most  polite  invita- 


348  MARGARET  : 

tion  at  my  grandfather's  last  night — you  can  imagine  my 
emotions.  I  scarcely  credit  it — that  I  am  to  be  received  into 
that  house  once  more,  and  allowed  to  see  Claudia.  Do  I 
look  as  if  I  were  dreaming  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  It  is,  without  doubt,  a  happy  reality. 
But  you  will  make  up  your  mind  to  be  patient,  even  if  the 
meeting  is  not  altogether  satisfactory  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Philip,  a  little  doubtfully. 

Claudia  was  standing  by  Margaret  when  Philip  entered 
her  mother's  draAving-room  that  evening,  and  Margaret  saw 
the  flash  of  joy  that  lighted  up  the  sweet  face,  as  they  noted 
Mrs.  Thome's  cordial  reception  of  Philip.  One  would  surely 
have  thought  that  he  had  always  been  one  of  her  most 
favored  and  honored  guests.  Mr.  Thome,  of  course,  wel 
comed  him  in  the  heartiest  manner. 

Philip's  eyes  met  Claudia's  in  an  eloquent  glance,  before 
he  was  at  liberty  to  go  to  her ;  and  when  he  took  her  hand, 
though  only  for  an  instant,  and  though  not  a  word  was  spo 
ken,  it  seemed  as  if  life  had  no  greater  joy  than  that  which 
he  felt  then. 

Before  he  returned  to ,  their  happiness  was  com 
plete  and  cloudless,  for  they  were  engaged  with  the  full 
consent  and  blessing  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Thorue.  Mr.  Thome 
would  have  had  the  day  of  their  marriage  fixed  at  once, 
declaring  that  he  had  an  ample  marriage  portion  laid  by  for 
his  daughter,  but  Philip  and  Claudia  felt  that  the  time  had 
not  come.  So  Philip  went  back  to  his  work  with  an  in 
creased  earnestness,  looking  bravely  and  hopefully  in  the  face 
of  all  difficulties,  determined  to  master  them. 

Claudia,  only  regretting  that  she  had  been  so  slow  in 
learning  her  life-lessons,  tried  to  be,  in  her  home,  so  far  as 
differing  circumstances  would  admit,  what  Margaret  was  in 
hers,  and  to  dispense  sunshine  to  some  who  had  little  or 
none. 

Early  in  the  spring  a  sorrow  came  to  Margaret  in  the 
death  of  her  friend,  Mr.  Doane.  A  letter  from  Mrs.  Blake 
brought  the  sad  tidings. 


A  STORY   OF   LIFE    IN   A    PRAIRIE    HOME.  349 

She,  and  her  husband's  father  and  mother,  with  whom 
she  was  travelling,  on  their  way  to  Rome  had  stopped  at  a 
little  town,  and  heard  accidentally  that  there  was  an  American 
gentleman  at  the  inn,  very  ill  Avith  a  fever.  On  making 
inquiries,  and  learning  that  it  was  Mr.  Doane,  they  gave  up 
all  thought  of  going  on,  and  devoted  themselves  to  caring 
for  him.  The  doctors  had  already  given  up  hope  of  his 
recovery;  but  he  was  conscious  to  the  last,  and  again  and 
again  assured  them  of  its  being  the  greatest  comfort  to  have 
friends  about  him,  and  to  feel  that  h6  should  not  be  buried 
by  strange  hands  in  a  strange  land.  "  I  want  to  lie  in  the  old 
burying-ground  at  home,"  he  said,  "  where  my  poor  mother 
can  have  the  satisfaction  of  looking  at  my  grav*i,  and  planting 
flowers  beside  it." 

"  I  shall  never  cease  to  be  thankful,"  Mrs.  Blake  wrote, 
"  to  the  kind  Providence  which  directed  us  to  him,  when  he 
was  alone  and  suffering.  The  afternoon  that  he  died,  I 
was  sitting  beside  him,  and,  hearing  him  speak  my  name, 
though  in  the  faintest  whisper,  I  bent  over  him  tc  hear  what 
ne  wished  to  say,  feeling  that  death  must  be  near.  He  spoke 
with  difficulty,  but  I  did  not  lose  a  word.  '  Tell  ber — Mrs. 
Russell ' — he  had  already  sent  messages  to  his  parents  and 
a  few  friends — '  tell  her  that  I  found  the  happiness  she 
wished  for  me, '  the  best  and  truest,'  and  that  I  shall  me^t  her 
in  the  better  country.  I  can  sing  in  my  heart,  Rock  of  ages, 
cleft  for  me."1  I  never  shall  forget  his  heavenly  expression  as 
he  caid  this,  and  it  should  be  a  life-long  joy  to  you,  dear  Mar 
garet,  if  you  were  instrumental  in  making  his  dying  hour  so 
peaceful  and  happy,  and  giving  him  so  sure  a  title  to  the 
blessedness  of  heaven." 

That  it  was  a  deep  joy  in  the  midst  of  her  grief,  who  cun 
doubt  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Koll  on,  0  blessed  years, 
For  though  ye  bring  us  sorrows,  and  the  mournful  tears 

May  sometimes  at  your  bidding  start, 
Ye  also  bring  such  rich  and  precious  treasure, 
Such  large  reward  for  every  weak  endeavor, 

Such  gentle  chastening  for  the  wayward  heart.  ANON. 

"  Now,  Chloe,  bring  the  basket  and  the  scissors,  and  we 
will  gather  the  flowers  while  the  dew  is  on  them,"  said  Mar 
garet  Russell,  one  June  morning  of  the  second  summer  after 
her  marriage.  "  O  gift  of  God,  O  perfect  day,"  she  repeated 
to  herself,  as  she  stood  upon  the  broad  piazza  of  her  country- 
home  on  the  Hudson,  and  looked  over  the  lawn,  woods,  river, 
and  hills,  all  bright  with  morning  sunlight  and  canopied  by 
the  sapphire  sky. 

Roses  were  in  their  glory,  as  well  as  pansies  and  helio 
trope  and  verbenas  and  daisies,  and  all  the  other  June  flow 
ers,  and  Chloe's  basket  was  soon  filled. 

"  Is  you  gwine  to  put  'em  in  every  single  room,  Miss 
Marg'et  ?  " 

"Yes,  Chloe;  I  think  they  will  all  like  to  have  them, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  dey  will.     Be  dey  comin'  dis  mornin'  ?  " 

"  Not  till  towards  night.  You  will  be  glad  to  see  them, 
Chloe." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Marg'et.  I  jes'  wish  I  could  take  car'  o'  dat 
ar  little  baby  'at's  a  comin'." 

"  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Doane  will  let  you  help,  if  she  sees  that 
you  are  very  careful.  But  the  baby's  nurse,  Rosa,  is  coming 
too." 

"  Is  Rosa  a  nigger,  Miss  Marg'et  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  very  nice  colored  girl." 

"  Won't  she  t'ink  dis  yer's  a  mighty  fine,  mos'  beaut'ful 
house !  "  said  Chloe,  with  a  solemn  shake  of  her  head. 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN    A   PKAIRIE    HOME.  351 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Russell,  coming  into  the 
iittlc  room  where  Margaret  had  taken  her  flowers  to  arrange 
them.  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere.  You  are 
sure  to  be  missing,  if  I  have  somethirfg  very  important  to 
say  to  you." 

"  You  mean  that  if  I  am  missing  for  three  minutes,  Rob 
ert,  you  are  sure  to  have  something  very  important  to  say 
to  me." 

"  I  think  of  tying  a  string  to  your  wrist,  and  keeping 
hold  of  the  other  end,  so  that  I  need  only  to  follow  it  in 
order  to  find  you." 

"I  will  tie  you  to  my  apron-strings,  if  you  like,"  respond 
ed  Margaret,  laughing ;  "  but  what  is  the  important  thing 
you  wish  to  say  to  me  now  ?  " 

"  That  I  am  going  to  take  a  walk  to  the  village,  and  de 
sire  your  company." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  if  you  will  wait  until  I  have  finished 
my  bouquets.  The  flowers  would  fade  if  I  left  them." 

"  Of  course  I  will  wait.  It  is  early  yet,  and  will  be  cool 
enough  for  a  walk,  even  in  the  middle  of  the  day." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  such  a  superb  day  as  this,  Robert  ? 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  set  Longfellow's  *  Day  of  Sunshine '  to  the 
most  triumphant  music,  and  sing  it  like  an  angel,  only  that 
it  doesn't  need  to  be  set ;  it  is  music  in  itself." 

"  I  have  been  repeating  that,  too,  Margaret,  and  wonder 
ing  that  such  days  as  this  never  inspired  me  to  write  just 
such  a  poem.  My  presumption  surpasses  yours." 

"  I  think  it  at  least  equals  it.  Now,  Chloe,  I  will  let  you 
put  these  in  the  rooms  ;  there  is  one  for  each,"  she  said,  hav 
ing  finished  the  bouquets.  "  Then  you  can  gather  up  all 
these  stems  and  leaves,  and  put  the  basket  away.  Robert, 
you  may  help  to  carry  these  into  the  parlor ; "  and  she  gave 
Mr.  Russell  a  glass  dish  of  rosebuds,  heliotrope,  and  gera 
nium  leaves,  and  took  one  herself  filled  with  scarlet  ver 
benas,  the  white  sweet  wood  and  some  dark  rich  green. 

"  Ise  gwine  to  put  the  han'somest  in  your  room,  Miss 
Marg'et,"  said  Chloe,  with  one  of  her  old  contortions. 


352  MAKGAKET I 

"You  may  please  yourself,  Chloe,"  Margaret  replied, 
knowing  that  in  her  eyes  the  prettiest  would  be  the  gayest. 

"  Shall  I  dust  while  you's  gone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  then  ask  Janet  what  she  has  for  you  to  do." 

Margaret  and  Mr.  Russell  had  their  walk,  and  the  rest 
of  the  day  was  spent  in  the  busy,  not  unprofitable  idleness, 
befitting  days  wherein  it  is  enough  "  not  to  be  doing,  but 
to  be." 

Towards  night  the  expected  guests  arrived,  and  the 
meeting  was  a  joyful  one,  though  it  was  not  the  first  time 
Margaret  and  Mr.  Russell  had  seen  their  western  friends 
since  their  marriage ;  for  when  Mrs.  Blake  returned  from 
Europe  they  went  with  her  to  St.  Louis,  and  spent  a  few 
days  with.  Mrs.  More,  of  course  paying  Miss  Patty  a  little 
visit. 

The  boys  were  wild  with,  joy  at  seeing  their  aunt  once 
more,  and  being  at  her  home  in  the  country ;  even  Fanny 
was  warm  in  her  greetings. 

"  Give  me  the  baby,  Rosa,"  said  Margaret,  and  she  car 
ried  the  little  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  girl  into  the  house, 
followed  by  the  others. 

"  She  has  grown  since  you  saw  her,  Margaret,"  said  Dr. 
Doane. 

"  Yes ;  she  is  not  quite  the  atom  of  humanity  that  she 
was  then.  How  sweet  she  is !  -  How  you  must  love  her, 
Walter." 

"Indeed,  you  will  think  so,"  cried  Fanny.  "I  verily 
believe  he  thinks  there  is  nothing  else  in  the  would  worth 
looking  at,  or  thinking  of,  but  Margie." 

"  And  Margie's  mother,  and  her  aunt  Margaret,  and  her 
brothers,"  added  Dr.  Doane. 

"  That  dear  little  thing  has  been  as  good  as  never  was,  all 
the  way,"  said  George,  pressing  the  soft,  rosy  cheeks,  and 
kissing  the  tiny  mouth,  and  he  was  rewarded  for  his  compli 
ment  by  a  merry  baby-laugh. 

"  I  suppose  these  travellers  are  tired  and  dusty  and  hun 
gry,  Margaret,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PJtAIBIE   HOME.  353 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  quite  forgot  that,  in  my  admiration  for  my 
namesake.  Follow  me,  all  of  you,"  she  said,  leading  the 
way,  with  the  baby  in  her  arms.  At  the  door  of  Fanny's 
room  she  delivered  her  charge  to  Rosa,  and  went  with  Mrs. 
More  to  hers. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  never  expected  to  come  so  far  from 
home  again,"  Mrs.  More  said,  as  Margaret  helped  her  to  take 
off  her  dusty  garments. 

"  I  was  sure  I  should  have  the  delight  of  welcoming  you 
to  my  house,  dear  Aunt  Clara,"  answered  Margaret.  "  I  do 
really  think  you  look  younger  than  you  did  when  I  saw  you 
last,  even  after  your  long  journey." 

"  I  don't  know,  Margaret ;  I  feel  pretty  old,  I  can  assure 
you.  But  I  am  very  glad  to  be  with  you,  my  dear,  and  to 
see  your  beautiful  home.  I  suppose  this  is  Robert's  compen 
sation  to  you  for  living  in  such  an  old-fashioned  house  in  the 
winter  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Aunt  Clara.  You  know  I  did  not  need  any 
compensation  for  that.  I  love  the  old  house  dearly.  But 
we  both  wished  to  be  in  the  country  six  months  of  the  year, 
so  Robert  bought  this  place.  It  is  lovely ;  isn't  it  V  " 

"  Oh,  those  hills ! "  cried  Mrs.  More,  looking  from  the 
window.  "  I  never  should  grow  weary  of  gazing  at  them. 
The  '  everlasting  hills  ! '  " 

"  Do  you  love  them  so  ?  "  asked  Margaret,  thinking  of 
her  own  longing  for  hills  when  she  lived  on  the  prairie-farm. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  love  such  scenery  as  this,  but  I  love  the 
prairies  too.  My  dear  child,  I  do  not  know  what  earthly 
thing  there  is  left  to  wish  for  in  your  lot." 

u  There  is  nothing,  my  dear  aunt.  I  have  every  conceiv 
able  blessing.  My  cup  runs  over." 

"  I  know  you  are  grateful,  my  dear,  and  that  earthly  joys 
cannot  make  you  lose  sight  of  the  heavenly." 

"  If  I  could  not  feel  that  my  earthly  joys  were  the  gift  of 
my  Father  in  heaven,  and  sanctified  by  His  love,  they  would 
be  worthless,"  said  Margaret,  earnestly. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  returned  Mrs.  More. 


354:  MAEGAEET : 

When  they  went  down-stairs,  they  found  Mr.  Russell,  Dr. 
Doane,  and  the  boys,  on  the  piazza. 

"  Oh,  boys,"  cried  Margaret,  as  they  ran  to  her,  "  how 
you  do  grow !  You,  Georgie,  are  almost  as  tall  as  I  am 
now.  Jackie,  you  don't  grow  quite  so  fast,  but  you  are  get 
ting  to  be  a  very  big  boy,  too." 

"  I'm  taller  than  any  boy  in  school  that  isn't  any  older 
than  I  am,"  cried  George. 

"  And  just  think,  Aunty,  he  got  the  medal  for  being  the 
best  scholar,"  said  Jack,  eagerly. 

"  Why  !  did  you,  Georgie  ?    I  am  delighted." 

"  I  got  it,"  answered  Georgie,  "  but  I  only  tried  for  it 
cause  I  didn't  want  Bill  Morton  to  have  it.  He's  so  awful 
mean.  He  whips  all  the  little  boys,  and  never  goes  near  a 
big  boy  when  he  wants  to  fight." 

"  You  whipped  him  pretty  well  when  he  came  at  me 
once,"  cried  Jack. 

"  I'll  bet  I  did  !  " 

Here  the  boys  ran  away  to  look  after  something  that  had 
attracted  their  attention,  and  Dr.  Doane  said  to  Margaret, 
"  I  am  afraid,  from  all  accounts,  that  your  elder  nephew  has 
rather  the  reputation  of  a  belligerent  than  a  peaceful  mem 
ber  of  society." 

"  It  is  something  for  him  to  fight  in  the  defence  of  the 
small  and  oppressed,"  said  Mr.  Russell. 

"  Yes,  he  is  the  champion  of  all  the  small  boys  in  the 
school  and  the  neighborhood ;  but  I  do  not  think  he  had 
afflicted  himself  with  much  studying,  until  there  was  danger 
that  Bill  Morton,  as  he  calls  him,  would  get  the  prize." 

"  Well,  Fanny  dear,  how  do  you  feel  now  ?  "  asked  Mar 
garet,  as  her  sister  came  out  upon  the  piazza.  "  No  one 
could  imagine  from  your  looks  that  you  had  been  travelling 
all  day  ;  you  are  as  fresh  and  fair  as  an  apple-blossom." 

"  I  seldom  have  the  credit  of  feeling  weary,"  returned 
Fanny,  "  because  any  little  excitement  gives  me  color.  I  am 
very  much  fatigued,  notwithstanding  my  looks." 

"I  think   you   ought  to   be   glad   of  it,  mother,"  said 


A   STORY  OF  LIFE  IN  A  PRAIRIE   HOME.  355 

George,  who  had  come  back  from  his  race  with  the  dog  in 
time  to  hear  his  mother's  remark.  "I  do  like  to  see  any 
body  always  look  nice  and  pretty,  as  you  do  when  you  are 
dressed  up." 

"  Thank  you,  George,"  said  his  mother ;  "  I  believe  you 
appreciate  my  good  looks,  if  I  have  any." 

Chloe  helped  to  wait  upon  the  tea-table,  and  did  herself 
much  credit,  only  once  or  twice  losing  herself  in  absorbed 
contemplation  of  the  familiar  faces  with  new  surroundings. 

"  Chloe  has  not  changed  in  the  least ;  has  she,  Mar 
garet  ?  "  said  Mrs.  More,  when  they  left  the  table,  "  except 
that  she  is  more  quiet  and  sedate." 

"  She  is  the  very  same  Chloe,  Aunt  Clara ;  only,  as  you 
say,  somewhat  improved  in  her  manners.  She  occasionally 
does  some  droll  thing  that  shocks  Janet  and  Martha,  and 
amuses  Robert  and  me,  but  she  will  be  a  real  treasure  when 
she  is  older.  She  is  now.  I  would  not  part  with  Chloe  for 
a  great  deal." 

"  And  she  certainly  would  not  part  from  '  Miss  Marg'et,' " 
added  Mr.  Russell.  "  I  suppose  you  have  observed  that  she 
continues  to  dignify  my  wife  by  her  old  title." 

"  Yes  ;  and  how  absurd  it  is,"  exclaimed  Fanny.  "  Why 
do  you  allow  it,  Margaret  ?  " 

"I  tried  to  impress  her  with  the  fact  that  I  was  Mrs. 
Russell,"  replied  Margaret,  "  but  I  grew  tired  of  correcting 
her  every  tfme  she  spoke  to  me,  and  concluded  to  let  her 
take  her  own  time.  If  she  ever  thinks  of  my  being  any 
body  but  '  Miss  Marg'et '  now,  I  have  no  proof  of  it." 

"  Margaret,"  said  Mrs.  More,  "  I  have  not  told  you  yet 
that  I  drove  over  to  the  farm-house  before  I  came  away,  so 
that  I  could  bring  you  the  latest  tidings  of  all  your  friends." 

"My  dear  Aunt,  how  good  of  you!     Are  they  all  well?" 

"  Yes,  very  well.  I  SQAV  Mrs.  Davis,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Thomas,  and  they  all  sent  a  great  deal  of  love  to  you.  Poor 
Miss  Patty  Hopkins  is  in  affliction.  Her  sister  is  dead.  She 
was  buried  the  day  before  I  was  there." 

"  Poor  Miss  Patty !  "  exclaimed  Margaret.     "  Her  sister 


356  MARGARET I 

was  never  much  of  a  comfort  to  hei*,  but  I  know  she  mourns 
for  her  as  if  she  had  been  the  best  sister  in  the  world.  Did 
she  say  any  thing  about  leaving  the  farm-house  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  presume  she  hopes  to  live  and  die  there.  She 
sent  her  love  to  you,  my  dear,  and  hoped  you  would  write  to 
her." 

"  I  certainly  will  write  at  once.  Poor  little  woman  !  I 
wish  I  covdd  have  her  near  enough  to  see  that  she  is  com 
fortable  and  happy.  Did  she  speak  of  Nancy  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  she  said  that  Nancy  was  very  kind,  and  was  de 
voted  to  her  sister  during  her  last  illness.  She  takes  the 
charge  of  every  thing,  and  Miss  Patty  considers  herself  very 
fortunate  in  having  such  a  woman  to  live  with  her.  Jotham 
took  occasion  to  tell  me  that  he  should  like  to  move  into  the 
farm-house  now,  if  Miss  Patty  could  go  to  her  own  house 
with  Nancy." 

"  Jotham  must  be  patient,  or  he  shall  never  have  the 
farm-house  at  all,"  said  Margaret. 

"  I  even  saw  Bridget,  and  she  and  Nancy  both  sent  their 
love  to  you." 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  Mrs.  More  asked  Mr.  Rus 
sell  about  Mrs.  Sarelli  and  her  family. 

"  I  remember  our  visit  there  so  well,  Robert !  "  she  said. 
"  Are  they  in  the  same  pretty  place  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Sarelli  and  the  girls  are  there,  but  Paul  is  in  Italy. 
He  developed  so  much  genius,  that  it  seemed  only  right  for 
him  to  have  every  advantage,  and  he  went  to  Rome  last  win 
ter.  He  will  be  a  distinguished  artist  one  of  these  days." 

"  His  mother  still  keeps  her  school,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  Angelica  is  attending  school  in  town,  and 
studying  music  ;  so  that  she  will  be  able  to  assist  her  mother 
before  long,  and  they  will  open  on  a  larger  scale." 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Ventnor,  Robert — your  young  friend  that 
I  admired  so  much  ?  " 

"  He  is  still  Professor  in  University,  and  is  to  be 

married  in  about  two  weeks  to  Miss  Claudia  Thome,  one  of 
the  loveliest  girls  that  ever  lived.  They  are  coming  to  make 


A   STORY   OF    LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  357 

us  a  visit  in  September ;  if  you  would  only  stay  till  then, 
Aunt  Clara,  you  would  see  them." 

"  I  should  not  need  that  inducement,  Robert ;  if  I  could 
stay,  I  should  be  content  to  see  only  you  and  Margaret.  But 
think  of  my  dear  children,  whom  I  shall  never  visit  again. 
And  I  must  get  home  before  the  cold  weather  comes." 

Mrs.  More  left  Margaret's  happy  home  in  two  weeks,  and 
Dr.  Doane  went  back  to  St.  Louis  about  the  same  time,  leav 
ing  the  boys  and  little  Margie  and  Fanny  to  spend  the  sum 
mer  with  Margaret,  at  her  earnest  entreaty. 

It  was  an  unmixed  pleasure  for  her  to  have  the  boys  and 
the  baby  there  ;  and  Fanny's  presence  might  have  been  an 
added  pleasure,  if  she  had  not  seemed  to  find  quiet  country- 
life  so  tedious  and  irksome.  Fortunately  for  all,  some 
friends,  whom  she  had  been  with  at  Newport  the  summer 
before  Margaret's  marriage,  had  taken  a  cottage  at  Long 
Branch,  and  she  was  invited  to  spend  the  month  of  August 
there.  The  invitation  was  eagerly  accepted,  and  the  conge 
nial  variety  made  the  summer  endurable. 

The  little  Margie  she  petted  and  caressed  at  times  as  if 
she  were  her  only  comfort,  and  she  was  extremely  fond  of 
her — as  who  could  help  being  of  the  winsome  little  creature  ? 
But  it  was  not  a  love  so  absorbing  and  solicitous  that  she 
could  not  readily  leave  her  to  the  care  of  Margaret  and 
Rosa,  while  she  enjoyed  the  gayeties  of  the  sea-shore. 

"  What  will  Walter  do  without  the  baby  ?  "  Margaret 
said  to  Mr.  Russell,  the  evening  after  Dr.  Doane's  departure. 
"  It  is  almost  painful  to  see  what  an  intense,  yearning  love 
he  has  for  the  little  thing." 

"  She  is  a  real  blessing  to  him  now,  and  will  be  a  still 
greater  blessing  when  she  is  older,"  returned  Mr.  Russell. 
"  I  wonder  if  Walter  is  in  any  serious  trouble,  pecuniarily  ?  ' 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is ;  he  seems  to  consider  the  cost  of 
things  so  carefully,  while  he  used  to  spend  freely,  almost 
thoughtlessly.  And  he  has  that  harassed,  absent  look,  so 
much  of  the  time." 

"  They  are  evidently  economizing  closely." 


358  MARGARET: 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  thankful.  Fanny  says  the  house  they 
live  in  now  is  as  plain  as  plain  can  be,  and  that  all  their  ele 
gant  furniture  is  sold.  I  know  that  what  few  new  dresses 
she  has,  were  not  made  by  Madame  Larisse.  I  am  happily 
disappointed,  for  I  was  afraid  that  Walter  would  involve 
himself  more  and  more  deeply,  in  his  dread  of  distressing 
Fanny.  She  says  he  is  determined  to  pay  his  debts  withe  ut 
touching  the  sum  he  settled  upon  her  at  their  marriage, 
though  she  would  have  preferred  that  he  should  take  that, 
rather  than  leave  their  handsom*  house." 

"  He  is  very  wise,"  «aid  Mr.  Russell,  "  and  I  have  no 
doubt  he  will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end." 

"  Fanny  bears  the  trial  better  than  I  expected.  It  is  a 
severe  mortification  to  her,  I  know ;  but  I  do  think  she  loves 
Walter,  and,  with  little  Margie,  they  may  be  reasonably 
happy  yet.  I  feel  more  concerned  about  the  boys  than  any 
body  else." 

"  An  idea  has  just  occurred  to  me,  Margaret.  I  will  at 
once  submit  it  to  your  judgment.  What  do  you  think  of 
proposing  to  Fanny  and  the  Doctor — I  wish  I  had  thought 
of  it  before  he  went  away — to  let  the  boys  remain  at  the 
East,  and  prepare  for  college  in  ,  under  Philip's  over 
sight  ?  They  could  spend  their  vacations  with  us.  It  strikes 
me  as  a  fine  plan  in  every  view." 

"  I  think  it  the  best  one  of  all  that  could  be  devised, 
Robert,"  responded  Margaret,  warmly. 

The  arrangement  was  made  with  little  objection,  even 
from  Dr.  Doane,  who  saw  its  advantages  too  clearly  to  let 
any  selfish  feeling  weigh  against  it.  And  they  are  now  in 

,  pursuing  their  studies  under  Mr.  Ventnor's  eye,  and 

their  progress  and  general  improvement  are  a  source  of  real 
satisfaction  to  Margaret  and  Mr.  Russell.  Philip's  home, 
where  Claudia  presides  with  grace  and  dignity,  is  almost  as 
much  a  home  to  George  and  Jack  as  their  aunt's.  It  is  a 

perfect  gem  in  its  way,  and  there  is  no  one  in 

more  admired  and  beloved  than  Mrs.  Ventnor. 

The  boys  have  spent  their  vacation  thus  far  with  Mar 


A   STORY   OF   LIFE   IN   A   PRAIRIE   HOME.  359 

garet,  but  the  coining  summer  they  are  to  make  Mrs.  More  a 
visit.  Dr.  Doane  and  their  mother  and  Margie  are  to  meet 
them  there.  They  are  looking  forward  to  this  with  eager 
pleasure,  and  have  already  planned  excursions  on  horseback 
or  on  foot — whichever  seems  most  attractive  when  the  time 
comes — to  the  farm,  and  see  Dr.  Somers,  and  Charlie,  and 
Nellie  Davis,  and  the  rest  of  their  old  friends.  They  are  even 
saving  as  much  of  their  pocket-money  as  they  can  spare — 
their  allowance  is  not  large — to  buy  a  pi-esent  for  Miss  Patty. 

Dr.  Doane  is  free  from  debt,  but  they  continue  to  live  in 
the  plain  house.  He  insists  that  it  is  large  enough  for  com 
fort,  and  as  tasteful  as  could  be  desired — which  is  very  true. 
He  shrinks,  beyond  expression,  from  the  possibility  of  a  re 
newal  of  his  late  perplexities. 

Fanny  avoids  society,  because  she  cannot  dress  and  re 
ceive  as  of  old,  and  her  visits  to  New  York  are  the  oases  in 
her  life.  At  home  she  is  low-spirited  and  sad,  but  the  health 
ful,  kindly  atmosphere  which  she  breathes  when  with  her  sis 
ter  and  Mr.  Russell,  has  its  effect  for  the  time.  The  little 
Margie  makes  music  and  sunshine  in  the  otherwise  quiet 
house.  She  charms  the  gloom  from  her  father's  heart,  and  is 
to  him  as  the  apple  of  his  eye  ;  and  she  returns  his  devotion 
with  an  ardor  that  would  seem  almost  incredible  in  a  child 
of  two  or  three  years.  Fanny  sees  this  gladly ;  for,  deep 
down  beneath  her  self-love,  lies  the  stinging  consciousness 
that  she  has  not  realized  the  hopes  of  her  husband  ;  that  she 
has  been  a  blight  rather  than  a  blessing  to  his  life  ;  and  she 
welcomes  the  comfort  which  her  child  brings,  while  too  inert 
to  make  an  effort  herself. 

Mrs.  Blake  lives  with  her  husband's  parents,  in  St.  Louis, 
but  makes  frequent  visits  to  Margaret  and  Robert,  to  whom 
her  sweet  presence  is  ever  welcome. 

Mrs.  More  has  lost  the  valuable  companionship  of  Mrs. 
Rice  and  Lucinda,  as  Lucinda  gave  her  hand  and  her  wound 
ed  heart  to  a  "  dry-goods  merchant "  in  a  neighboring  town 
a  few  mouths  since,  and  her  mother  lives  with  her ;  she  con 
tinues  to  make  verses  upon  all  subjects  that  touch  her  sensi- 


360  MAEGAEET. 

bilities.  But  Mrs.  More  does  not  suffer  by  the  loss ;  for, 
besides  having  the  gentle,  unobtrusive  Miss  Patty  with  her,  she 
always  has  some  one  from  among  her  loving,  admiring  children 
and  grandchildren,  nieces  and  nephews,  to  enliven  her  home. 

Miss  Patty  gladly  acceded  to  Mrs.  More's  kind  proposal 
that  she  should  come  and  take  Mrs.  Rice's  place ;  for,  not 
withstanding  Nancy's  fidelity  and  devotion,  she  found  her 
life  at  the  farm  very  lonely,  after  her  sister's  death.  And  the 
idea  of  being  with  Mrs.  More,  whom  she  agrees  with  Chloe  in 
regarding  as  only  second  to  Marg-Tet  in  goodness,  and  who  is, 
besides,  related  to  that  darling  oTTfer  heart,  is  like  a  taste  of 
heaven  below.  Nancy  is  with  Mrs.  Davis,  and  has  already 
made  herself  indispensable  in  that  lady's  domestic  economy. 

Jotham  and  his  wife  are  in  happy  possession  of  the  farm 
house  ;  and  the  farm,  still  owned  by  Margaret,  is  in  a  profit 
able  condition.  In  a  year  or  two  more,  without  doubt,  Jo 
tham  will  be  able  to  buy  it. 

John  Heath  has  entered  upon  his  theological  studies,  and 
is  pursuing  them  with  earnestness.  His  brother,  having  de 
cided  that  his  taste  is  not  particularly  for  books,  has  just 
gone  into  business ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Heath  are  still  living 
tranquilly  at  Rockdale. 

Chloe  has  her  especial  duties,  which  she  performs  in  the 
most  satisfactory  manner.  But  all  her  spare  moments  are 
devoted  to  Master  Robbie  Russell,  the  son  and  heir,  the  pet 
and  darling  of  the  house — who  never  fails  to  greet  her  with 
a  crow  of  delight.  She  groans  in  spirit  that  she  is  not  big 
enough  to  take  the  entire  charge  of  him,  and  regards  his 
nurse  with  envious  eyes,  while  she  waits  as  patiently  as  she  can 
for  the  time  when  Robbie  shall  run  alone.  Then  she  has  been 
promised  the  coveted  responsibility.  She  can  read  and  write, 
and  is  sure  to  become  an  intelligent  and  trustworthy  woman. 

The  charms  of  their  happy  home  do  not  absorb  the  inter 
est  and  sympathies  of  Margaret  and  Robert  Russell.  Their 
daily  record  is  in  hearts  and  homes  but  for  them  dark  and 
joyless ;  and  their  influence  is  felt  in  all  that  is  true,  noble, 
and  Christ-like. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


Form  L9-Series  444 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


PS 


AA 


023827    9 


